


The Bough That Breaks

by tiranog



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:03:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1828900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiranog/pseuds/tiranog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Christmas Story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bough That Breaks

"What is that?” Someone asked from behind him as Constable Benton Fraser stared in shock at the framed black and white photo. 

“It’s my family,” he softly replied, desperately trying to make out the features of the woman buried in a fur parka at the far right of the photograph. But Caroline Fraser’s face was as lost to bad resolution as it was to his childish, foggy memory. All he remembered of her was the scent of her perfume and vague images of a blinding, angelic smile. And warmth, maybe the only real warmth he’d ever known in his life.

Whoever had asked the question drifted back into the cheerful din that was the 27th Precinct’s Christmas party. Constable Turnbull was still chasing Chicago cops around the bullpen with the death ray gun Ray had given him, playing Assassin Santa. Inspector Thatcher, Ray, Officers Huey and Dewey, even Francesca were all caught up in the merriment of the season, Officer Dodds was giving a lovely rendition of *Silent Night*. 

It was a wonderful party. And yet Fraser stood apart from the festivities as he so often did. Normally, he was alone at such instances, but today he was in the company of his father’s ghost, a dead man who seemed to have more of a Yuletide social calendar than his living son.

Robert Fraser’s specter smiled sadly and wished him, “Merry Christmas, son.”

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” Fraser replied, barely able to get the words out. He stared down at the small picture in his hands for a moment, and then softly asked, “Dad, did you give me this?”

“No, son, you know I can’t manipulate material things anymore. I wish I had, though. So many Christmases I missed – " 

“That’s all in the past now,” Fraser cut in, unable to deal with the other man’s guilt. Right now the last thing his aching heart wanted to be reminded of was all those pathetic Christmases he’d spent in his grandmother’s cabin, eagerly awaiting the return of a man who’d never shown up for the holiday after his wife had passed away, not even once. Fraser had meant what he’d said before about forgiveness, and part of true forgiveness was forgetting, but...the adult in Fraser could forgive, maybe even forget, but that lonely little boy could do neither.

The truth was, Christmas had never been anything but a painful period to get through for him. When young, he had spent his holidays off from school trying to remain cheerful in that somber cabin, with its burnt arctic tern and buckthorn bush stinking the air. Those half-hearted attempts at acknowledging the holiday had only accentuated what other normal children had and he didn’t. 

Even in the arctic, other families managed to bring in a real Christmas tree with real lights on it; others had a real turkey. But not the Frasers, at least, not after Caroline had died. His grandmother would have none of that expensive tomfoolery and waste under her roof. So, they made do with wild, chewy tern, buckthorn bush and flare guns, while other families celebrated in the traditional manner. 

Somehow, Fraser would get through it, keep up a happy front. The last thing he’d ever wanted to do was make his grandparents feel bad for their attempts to please him. Even at the age of six, Benton had understood how huge a burden he was to these old people, how difficult it was for them to deal with a young child. So, he would put on his most cheerful smile and endure, be polite and act like it was all wonderful. And, eventually, the Christmas break would end and he’d be free to return to school – in the years that he wasn't being home schooled, that was.

But even that reprieve from the unending depression of the Fraser cabin would turn out to be a disappointment, for he would have a whole different ordeal to endure with his schoolmates. He knew it was wrong to be materialistic, that Christmas wasn’t about things, but about spirit and cherished people. Even so, it was hard not having the gifts other children had, and harder still to observe the other youngsters show off the new clothes and toys they’d gotten from Santa, while he’d sit there silently reading the new book his grandmother had given him, trying not to be too noticeable. Inevitably, some well-meaning schoolmate would ask what he’d gotten for Christmas, and he’d have to suffer the pity in their eyes as he showed off his new book.

Yes, he had a lot to forget. But he was trying. God help him, but he was trying.

It was easier here in Chicago. He didn’t have to spend Christmas alone, patrolling deserted wilderness for wrongdoers while married constables celebrated with their families. Not once, in all the years he’d worked in those isolated outposts had anyone even asked him about his holiday plans, let alone invited him to join them. They were Canadians, polite people who didn’t intrude into another man’s business. Fraser had set himself up as a loner, who preferred it that way, and his coworkers had respected that. 

It had taken a brash American detective with his in your face attitude to see that for the nonsense it was. If Fraser lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the gratitude he’d felt that first Christmas here in Chicago when Ray Vecchio had taken him and Dief home to the Vecchio Christmas dinner after they’d finished booking the Donnelly Brothers. Fraser had tried to insist that it wasn’t necessary, that he didn’t want to intrude, but Ray had just given him one of those typical Vecchio replies of ‘What intrude?’ and dragged the protesting Mountie off to the finest Christmas he’d ever spent, then delivered him back home when the overcrowded household had gotten to be too much for him.

God, how he missed Ray Vecchio. Fraser couldn’t help but sigh as he thought about his first partner, out there alone in the cold somewhere, celebrating the holiday in the midst of ruthless criminals instead of with his loving family. He could only pray that Ray was all right, that Ray Vecchio had everything he wanted and needed. It was the not knowing that was hardest.

“Well, son, enjoy the festivities. It’s time I was away,” Robert Fraser said.

“You have an appointment?” Fraser tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice; he honestly did, but even so, he knew his bitterness still seeped through. The man was *dead*, for God’s sake. And even when he was dead, Robert Fraser still couldn’t find it in him to spend a full Christmas with his son.

“Well, in fact, I do, Benton. My Group of Six are going to give our gifts to the orphans in a little while.” 

Dead painters producing pictures for dead orphans. It made sense, Fraser supposed. If there were dead orphans in the afterlife, their needs certainly had to be seen to. Unable to be selfish enough to stand in the way of charity to orphans, even if they were dead, Benton forced a smile and answered, “Well, I guess you’d best be going, then. Merry Christmas, Dad.”

“Merry Christmas, son,” Fraser senior repeated before vanishing into the ether.

The awareness of being alone in the center of a group of happy, laughing people only increased after his dad departed. Fraser knew that he wasn’t that good at socializing at parties. He had no experience at this. His seriousness had a habit of bringing others down. He tended to stick out like a sore thumb, which was actually about the only part of his body that wasn’t aching at the moment. 

Wilson Warfield’s goons had been quite efficient. Fraser hurt all over. He knew it was sheer luck that that two by four he’d taken across his neck and back hadn’t killed him.

“Would you like some champagne, Fras-ur-e?” Francesca Vecchio’s cheerful voice interrupted his musing as she drew out his two syllable name into three in the same charming manner her brother had.

Benton started, his alarmed gaze checking the immediate area for mistletoe before he politely refused, “No, thank you, Francesca. As you know, I don’t partake of alcoholic beverages.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, Frase,” she grinned, turning to make sure she was out of the line of danger as Turnbull raced by like an excited four year old with his death gun.

Catching her profile, a pang went through him. Fraser couldn’t help but note the strong resemblance she bore to her absent brother, especially when her hair was pulled back off her face, as it now was. They both had that wonderfully distinctive Vecchio nose. Francesca’s face was rounder than her brother’s, her eyes a warm brown while Ray’s were a captivating green specked hazel-brown, but basically, it was the same attractive face. 

Not for the first time, Fraser found himself wishing that he could make her happy, that he could find the feelings inside him that she longed to receive, but...as kind and lovely as Francesca was, and as strong the resemblance she bore to her brother, Frannie would never be the Vecchio that Fraser desired. It was just another one of those odd twists that fate had put in Fraser’s path, that the Vecchio sibling he wanted would be eternally oblivious to him as anything but a friend, while Fraser felt the same sexual indifference to the Vecchio he could have.

Glancing down at the photo in his hands, Fraser was struck with inspiration. Francesca had kept careful track of the station’s Kris Kringle event to ensure that no one was left without a present on Christmas Eve. Surely, she would know who’d put this gift under the tree she’d taken such pride in decorating.

“Francesca?”

“Yes, Fraser?” 

The hope in her perky features was almost heart breaking. It made him feel like an utter cad, which wasn’t particularly difficult to do after the bitter self-discoveries he’d made over the last twenty-four hours. Selfish, single-minded, obsessive, overbearing and arrogant, these were not terms by which he was accustomed to being viewed or to viewing himself. Yet both his father and Ray had leveled those accusations at him, and, since neither were in the habit of lying to him, he had to accept that it was true, that he had behaved that badly. Everything in him wanted to deny the self-serving labels, but even the way he was willing to use Francesca’s feelings for him to obtain information to which he wasn’t legally entitled proved that everything his conscience and his father had said was true. He was self-serving, for all his concern for others.

“Did you want to ask me something, Fraser?” she questioned. “Are you feeling all right?” Her concern was almost palpable.

“I’m fine...thank you. What I was wondering was...well, I thought that perhaps you might have seen who placed this box beneath the tree?”

Her smile was gentle, far too understanding. “The silver one with the white bow on it?”

“The very same,” he confirmed.

“I saw Ray put a silver box with a white bow under the tree.”

“But...Inspector Thatcher drew my name from the Kris Kringle tree,” Fraser distinctly remembered his superior taking one of the paper booties when she’d been here last week.

“Well, maybe it wasn’t meant to be a Kris Kringle present. You are his partner, you know. Partners usually get each other something even if they don’t draw each other’s name in the office pool,” she explained.

“They do?” Fraser asked blankly. He’d always worked alone before Ray Vecchio. And Ray had never... “Your brother and I never exchanged...” he lamely began, something inside tensing at the sympathy that softened her bright brown gaze.

“Ray always got you a Christmas present, Fraser. He usually ended up giving it to you as a birthday gift.”

“He did?” Fraser was careful to keep his expression from revealing the dawning horror that he was experiencing.

“Ray knew that you were new to a lot of our customs and didn’t want to embarrass you when – " 

“I failed to get him something,” Fraser hollowly completed. “I see.”

He looked down, feeling himself an utter failure. Ray Vecchio had never said a word, but Fraser knew that his own thoughtlessness must have deeply hurt his first partner. And now his present partner had been so unsure of him that Ray Kowalski had left his gift under the tree without a nametag on it. Fraser couldn’t help but wonder what kind of a man, what kind of a friend that made him. He wasn’t at all comfortable with the conclusion he came to.

“Fraser, please don’t...be...don’t feel bad. Ray was never upset. He...”

“Excuse me, Miss Vecchio, may I have the pleasure of your company for a moment?” Constable Turnbull hesitantly asked, stepping forward in his ridiculous Santa hat, beard and Mountie uniform. “I’m sorry to intrude, Constable Fraser. If you’d rather, I can wait until you finish your conversation with Miss Vecchio.”

Seeing the brightly wrapped box Turnbull was attempting to conceal behind his back, Fraser stepped aside with a mumbled, “No, it’s all right.”

“It is?” Turnbull asked, as though it were inconceivable to him that another man would step aside and allow him a chance with Francesca.

A trace of bitterness entering her voice, Francesca agreed, “Yeah, you’re not interrupting anything, Renfield. Don’t worry about it. See you around, Fraser.”

Realizing that he’d once again inadvertently hurt her, Fraser stood frozen as Turnbull escorted the lovely young woman to a quiet corner.

Fraser looked around for someone to talk to. Ray Kowalski was on the other side of the room, wearing his partner's regulation-issue Stetson and chatting with a few of the other detectives. A pang went through him when he looked at his hat, sitting there on Ray's head for all to see. He wondered how many of the people in the room were aware of the significance the cowboys in the American Old West had placed on a man wearing a buddy's hat. Surely, Ray was ignorant of that particular trivia. 

For a moment, Fraser allowed himself to fantasize that Ray knew fully well what he was doing by wearing his hat and was sending him a message, but he knew better. Just as he knew better than to allow his hopes to turn in that direction.

Ray Kowalski was his partner, period. He would do nothing to jeopardize this relationship, nothing to betray just how attractive he actually found his partner, but not as a woman. He preferred Ray exactly as he was, as male as they came. 

He pulled his thoughts from that forbidden topic and returned his attention to scanning the room. Inspector Thatcher and Leftenant Welsh were engaged in what appeared to be a particularly serious conversation. Detectives Huey and Dewey were joining Officer Dodds in a rendition of DECK THE HALLS. His father was off giving imaginary paintings to imaginary orphans. Even Dief was occupied with Francesca’s poodle. 

As usual, everybody had someone they belonged with, except him. Remembering the last time that he’d truly felt a cherished member of a group, Fraser glanced down at the photo clutched in his hands. Staring at the grainy face of the woman he could barely see beneath the hood of her furry parka, Benton wondered if even she would like him these days. Being right had always been of utmost importance to his father, but as Fraser fought through his clouded memories, he seemed to recall that it had been more important to his mother that he be nice. And, whatever else he was, Fraser was beginning to realize that for all his good deeds, he wasn’t really nice, not with the people who counted. He was just like his dad. Right first, nice as an afterthought, but always polite. Oh, so, horribly polite. 

As he stood there alone, untouched in the center of all that merriment, he seemed to hear his father’s voice warning him, the bough that cannot bend must surely break. 

But he didn’t know how to bend. He didn’t know how to let injustice pass unchallenged. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to leave the kitten stranded in the tree or the blind to blunder across a busy intersection. He didn’t know how to remain silent when someone had to speak up in the name of justice. He could not not maintain the right. His duty was more a part of him than the skin he wore. He was, Fraser realized with a sinking heart, the bough that could not bend. And he was breaking, God help him, but he was he breaking. And there was no one there to notice, let alone care. 

**************

“...so, there the guy is when we bust into the hotel room, decked out in this red velvet suit with expensive white fur trim and a real human hair wig and beard. He’s got these two young hustlers dressed up in elf costumes with mistletoe wrapped around their...” Detective Dewey’s voice droned on with his anecdote as Ray Kowalski’s mind wandered from the conversation at hand, as it so often did when people talked for a long time.

It had nothing to do with the content of the speaker’s words. Ray was never really bored. He’d just find his concentration drifting away, no matter how hard he tried to stay focused. It happened so frequently that he would hardly ever be aware of it, until his lapse was called to his or the group’s attention, then he’d be laughed at for being too stupid to remember what he’d just heard or the person speaking would get insulted or mad because he wasn’t paying attention, and he’d get defensive and angry himself, then the situation would devolve from there. It was just easier to smile and pretend he was with the program, though half the time Ray seriously didn’t have a clue as to even which channel his companions were tuned.

Like now. When Huey, Larson and Wilkins erupted into laughter around him at whatever Dewey’s punch line had been, Ray actually jumped, because he hadn’t been aware that he’d stopped paying attention. So, he pasted a smile on his face and said, “That’s a good one, Dew.”

Larson started speaking then, Ray listened to the first few seconds, but then his gaze started to roam the room. 

Everyone was having a great time. It was good to see. Even the Ice Queen had let down her hair. She and Welsh were cozied up together over at the punchbowl, laughing and chatting like old school chums. The noise quotient had toned down considerably in the last few minutes; he could actually hear the choir. The reason became clear as Ray’s eyes fell upon Turnbull, who was standing still for a moment, his death ray gun tucked under his arm as he grinned and nodded at Francesca. Ray’s pretend sister was talking a mile a minute, while clasping what looked like a fringed rodeo shirt to her bosom like a baby. She was glowing brighter than the tree, Ray thought, really happy. 

It didn’t take an Einstein to figure out that Turnbull had just given Frannie whatever she had cradled to her chest and that she was very happy about it. Looked like someone was gonna get lucky tonight, Ray thought with an affectionate grin. 

He was glad for them, even though there’d been a time he’d been sweet on her himself. Since that was never gonna happen, he’d rather see Frannie happy with Turnbull than chasing Fraser. As much as he loved his partner, he knew Fraser would make this vivacious woman miserable. Frannie needed someone who would appreciate her, and for whatever reason, Fraser was blind to her charms, if not downright terrified of her. Turnbull now...he was clearly enthralled by Miss Vecchio. 

Ray’s roving gaze left the unlikely couple and continued around the room. Everyone was having a good time, even the dogs. He couldn’t contain his grin as he saw Dief ripping open a plastic doggie stocking to get at the rawhide chews inside while Francesca's poodle helped. It would serve Fraser right if he ended up with Frannie as an in-law, Ray evilly thought.

Beside the dogs, the impromptu choir was going strong with a confused, but enthusiastic rendition of MUST BE SANTA, while on the other side of them...Constable Benton Fraser stood still as stone, all by himself, precisely where Ray had left him more than a half hour ago. The bruised and battered Mountie was standing beside the tree with a lost look on his face, clutching the picture Ray had left for him like a scared kid with his teddy.

Not for the first time, Ray questioned the wisdom of his gift. He’d thought it would make Fraser happy to have a piece of his past returned to him, but the photo appeared to have brought his friend down.

Damn, he cursed to himself, wondering how long his partner had been standing there like that. Surely, not the entire time? But, try as he would, Ray couldn’t remember seeing Fraser conversing with anyone. Once when his attention had wandered, Ray was sure he’d caught his partner talking to himself as he so often did when Fraser thought himself alone or unobserved, but aside from that one-sided conversation, Ray had no solid recollection of anyone shooting the breeze with Fraser. 

Mumbling an excuse, Ray tipped the brim of his borrowed Stetson at his co-workers as he’d seen Clint Eastwood do in a dozen movies, then turned to join the man he’d borrowed it from. He was struck with the sudden concern that maybe Fraser was pissed at him for donning the Sacred Stetson without permission. Fraser was inordinately attached to the hat, but, if the hat were the problem, surely the Mountie would have made some snarky comment, rather than just stood there looking all depressed – or as depressed as a man who never allowed his facial expression to reflect his emotions could appear. 

It wasn’t like Fraser didn’t have reason to feel bad, even without his stealing his partner’s hat, Ray recognized. The guy had been ridiculed by his associates, dismissed as being foolish, and beaten up, all for wanting to do the right thing. Fraser’s methods these last few days might have been all wrong, but his reasons were right on target. 

Ray wasn’t sure if the men of the 27th’s belated show of support would have been enough to make him feel better if he’d been in Fraser’s shoes. Warfield’s goons had worked Fraser over good. That should never have happened. There was a part of him that reminded himself that it wouldn't have happened at all if Fraser hadn't been so damn pig-headed and had only listened to reason, but it was hard not to feel sorry for the guy. If they’d all stood up to Warfield from the get go, the slime would never have dared lay a finger on a cop, let alone beat said cop to a pulp and then laugh about it. Warfield might be in prison now, but the situation should never have progressed to the point it had. The sleeze should have been stopped thirty years ago, just like Fraser had said. 

Maybe that was what Fraser was down about. Maybe he was feeling betrayed. Even though Ray knew he'd been right and that there was nothing they could do about Warfield legally at the time, Fraser might be feeling like his associates had all let him down. Perhaps that was what that forgiveness Christmas toast had been about, maybe Fraser was trying to forgive them all for not standing beside him the way Fraser thought they should have, the way Fraser would have stood beside any of them.

His feet were moving with no conscious guidance, heading him toward that terribly subdued figure.

“Hi, ya,” he softly greeted, none too sure of the reception he was going to receive.

This guy who could eavesdrop on a conversation a hundred yards away started as if he hadn’t seen Ray approaching. 

“Ray,” Fraser blinked, his eyes going very wide, as though surprised to see him standing there talking to him.

There was no smile, but the gloom hanging around Fraser seemed to lessen at Ray’s arrival. He watched Fraser’s gaze roam up towards the top of his head, where Fraser’s Stetson still sat at a cocky angle.

“Sorry. I shoulda asked. You mind?” Ray’s hand darted to the hat, ready to remove it instantly if that were the source of his friend’s subdued air.

“No, it looks quite fetching on you,” Fraser absently replied.

Only his partner would use a word like ‘fetching’. That Fraser would use it when referring to another man was so beyond the pale that Ray didn’t even go there. Instead, he just smiled and said, “You think?”

“Do I think - what?” Fraser questioned in absolute earnestness.

“Nevermind. You okay, Frase?”

“I’m very well, thank you kindly for asking, Ray,” Fraser answered in what Ray quickly classified as his partner’s automatic pilot polite mode. For a guy who didn’t lie, the Mountie did a lot of truth stretching in the name of propriety.

“You’ve got three shades of purple in your face alone, Fraser. You’re anything but ‘very well’. You in a lot of pain?”

Fraser gave a slow shake of his head, “No more than can be expected.”

“You takin’ anything for it? Why am I even bothering to ask that, of course, you aren’t. Do you know – " 

“Ray, Fraser,” A breathless Francesca hurried up to them, the bemused, but happy looking Turnbull in tow. Her cheeks were bright with excitement, her eyes glittering with joy. Ray thought that she had never looked so beautiful as she continued, “Mom wanted to make sure you guys knew you were invited to the family dinner tonight and to Christmas tomorrow. Please say you’ll come.”

Even though she was standing there with an utter conquest at her beck and call, Francesca’s eyes turned entreatingly to the other Mountie, whose bruised features remained remarkably unmoved.

“I’m sorry, Francesca. I – " 

“If you change your mind,” she interrupted before Fraser could embarrass himself any further, “you come by. What about you, Ray? You free tonight?”

He loved her for asking and sounding so hopeful, like she really wanted him there. But he had met the Vecchio family and, as much as he liked them and they seemed to like him, he knew that he wasn’t the Ray they were going to want to see at their dinner table.  
So he pasted on a smile and lied, “Thanks, Frannie, but I’m spoken for this holiday.”

She smiled back at him, her good nature shining through as she assured, “Well, if you and your lady friend come up for air, be sure to drop by. Mom’s got enough food to feed this crew for a week.”|

“Will do, Frannie. Thanks,” he agreed, knowing that even if he spent tomorrow with a TV dinner, he wouldn’t be taking her up on the offer. He was willing to be a stand in for Vecchio on the job, but he drew the line at submerging himself into the guy’s private life off duty. Even being so close to Fraser pushed the envelope on that rule, only...he was pretty certain that he wasn’t just standing in with Fraser. Ray knew that he might be proven wrong if Vecchio ever returned, but he’d really come to think of Fraser as his friend and partner, to believe that their association was more than just a sham on both their parts to keep Vecchio safe.

“Well, Merry Christmas, Ray,” she stood on tippy toes to kiss his cheek.

Kowalski happily ducked his head to oblige her, returning her sentiment with a happy smile. He almost beaned her with the Stetson, but she tilted her head at the last minute and escaped unscathed.

“Merry Christmas, Fraser,” she hopefully offered.

Fraser just stood there stiff as a board, then politely responded, “Merry Christmas, Francesca. And to you, Constable Turnbull.”

“Thank you, sir,” the junior officer gave a goofy grin, and then allowed Francesca to lead him from the bullpen.

Ray shook his head as he watched them depart. Turnbull was caught, hook, line and sinker. There was no arguing that. “She’s gonna eat him alive.”

To his astonishment, he heard Fraser agree, “Quite probably.”

Glancing over quickly, he saw Fraser’s eyes widen, as if Fraser had just realized that he’d spoken the words aloud.

Chuckling, Ray affectionately patted his buddy’s back. He loved it when the real Fraser hacked his way out of that choking stranglehold civility put on him.

Fraser stiffened up straighter. That bruised, yet stunningly attractive face, gave an unconscious wince.

“Jeez, I’m sorry, Frase,” Ray quickly apologized, realizing he’d hurt his friend with that light pat. Worried, he wondered just how bad off Fraser was. Maybe Frannie was right yesterday, maybe they should have forced him to take off his shirt. This guy was so frigging stubborn that he wouldn’t seek medical attention until he fell over unconscious.

“I thought you said that most of your injuries were visible.”

“I may have slightly underestimated the damage,” Fraser softly admitted.

“How much underestimated? You need a hospital?” Ray checked, all his protective instincts on overdrive, as they’d pretty much been since he’d gotten his first look at that battered, handsome face. 

“They were professionals, Ray. It will be a few days before I am back in peak condition.”

Not buying it, Ray persevered, “I wanta know how bad you’re hurt. No lies, no polite *don’t-worry-about-mes*. You’re limping. What’s up with that?”

“They knocked my bad leg out from under me.”

A chill went through Ray at the pronoun. Of course, it woulda had to have been *they*, because there wasn’t a solitary man alive, armed or unarmed, who could have done this to Fraser without back up.

“What else? I know you musta took a few blows to your stomach, but how bad is the rest?”

Fraser drew a deep breath and released it through his nostrils in the Mountie’s equivalent of a put upon sigh. “They broke a two by four over my shoulders and neck. The area is...quite sensitized. The rest is just bruising and abrasion.”

“Son of a-” Ray cut off the curse. Fraser hated foul language. There was no reason to subject the guy to it when Fraser was already feeling so rotten. “I’m sorry, Frase.”

“For what?”

The honest confusion behind the question made Ray feel all the guiltier. 

“This should never have happened,” he quietly raged.

“And it wouldn’t have occurred, if I had heeded your advice.” 

“What? Did you just admit I was right? You musta really gotten hit on the noggin’,” Kowalski mumbled. He was able to count upon the fingers of one hand (and have several left over), the times that Benton Fraser had admitted that his partner was right about something they were arguing over. Not that Ray wasn’t used to being ignored that way. Because of his attention problem, most people just assumed he was stupid and didn’t bother arguing with him. At least Fraser always paid him the courtesy of acting as if his opinion mattered enough to fight about.

“No, Ray, you were right on all counts. If I hadn’t initially interfered, Tommy would never have been struck. It was my intrusion into the conflict that escalated the situation to violence. With my subsequent...arrogance, I catalyzed the events that led to the assault upon my person.”

Ray blinked under the verbal barrage, staying focused with an effort. He always got lost when Fraser used those hundred dollar lawyer words. He usually knew what they meant, only it took him a while to dredge the definitions up from the murky waters that were his memories. 

One thing was crystal clear. Fraser was coming down way too hard on himself. Even though he might've thought everything Fraser had just said was true, he'd known all along that Fraser was just trying to help. Fraser had simply gone about it the wrong way.

"Look, none of this was your fault. You were right about this from the get go. If it weren’t for you, Warfield wouldn’t be in prison right now. Your methods mighta been a little...” Ray searched for a word that wouldn’t come across as too judgmental; seeing how Fraser was already putting himself through hell over this, he didn’t want to add to the pain, “...impractical, but you were right.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Ray, but you were correct the other day. I was utterly selfish, obsessive and arrogant.” 

That last bit sounded like a litany that had been running through Fraser’s mind non-stop for some time. Ray had meant the words when he’d called Fraser ‘selfish’, but he’d never expected his partner to take them to heart. 

“I never called you obsessive or arrogant,” Ray quickly denied. “And I was outta line with that selfish crack, too.” 

“Ray, you don’t have to-”

“I’m not,” he cut in. “Look, you’re hurtin’ now. You’re not seein’ things too clear, but you were right about everything. You just…went about it – " Ray broke off. What was he going to do, put Fraser down when he was all beat up and hurting? 

"All wrong?" Fraser suggested.

Ray shrugged. "Something like that. But at least you tried to help. That's gotta count for somethin', doesn't it? You did the best you could. So quit blamin’ yourself. We mightn’t have any perfect worlds around here, Fraser, but you do your damnedest to make it one.”

For a second, Fraser’s usual controlled mask seemed to slip. Ray was shocked to see an insecurity hiding in this perfect man that eclipsed even his own. 

“You really believe that, Ray?” Fraser asked softly.

That wasn’t one he had to think about or ponder. Ray nodded, “Absolutely.”

To his dismay, Fraser’s eyes seemed to brighten with moisture. Ray couldn’t figure what he’d said wrong. Jesus, couldn’t he ever get anything right?

But, then, Fraser appeared to get hold of himself. Though still somewhat over-bright, those eyes never leaked. “Thank you, Ray. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.”

Touched by how much his words seemed to have meant to his normally insouciant friend, Ray swallowed hard and muttered, “No problem, partner.”

A strange bubble of silence seemed to envelope them as they stood isolated from the party proper.

After a few moments, Fraser questioned, “Ray, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did you give me that picture?”

He didn't know why Fraser's simple question made him feel so nervous. It wasn't like he'd done anything wrong by restoring the picture to its rightful owner, and, he'd known how much it would probably mean to Fraser, so why did he feel so embarrassed by what was basically a thoughtful gesture? 

When the prolonged silence started to become uncomfortable, Ray gave a reluctant nod and mumbled, “Yeah, I did.”

“Where did you get it? All my things perished in the fire, or so I’d thought.”

Truly uncomfortable now, he shifted from one foot to another, and then admitted, “I was going through the evidence for the Greta Garbo Trial when I came upon that in October. Forensics kept it ‘cause it had traces of the starter on it. They were gonna toss it when they were through with it, but when I saw the muck lucks, I knew it hadta be yours, and well...I knew that everything else had been lost. It was all water damaged and burnt around the ends. It had to be restored. They did a pretty good job with it, didn’t they?” 

“Perfect, Ray. It’s perfect. I will treasure it always. Thank you for restoring it to me.”

He’d never heard Fraser sound like that before. He’d heard his partner angry, sarcastic, polite, pedantic, amused, but never...touched, not so you could hear the emotion in Fraser’s hoarse voice.

His own throat tightening up a bit, Ray tried to dismiss the effort he’d made as meaningless, “It was no big deal, Fraser.”  
###  
“To the contrary, Ray, it meant a very big deal to me.”

“Well, that’s good then, right?”

“Yes, I...will you...could you wait here a moment? I have something, I mean, I will have something for...just wait. Please?” 

A tongue-tied Fraser was normally an amusing sight, but today, all beaten up as he was, it was oddly moving. Kowalski gazed into those earnest, worried blue eyes and nodded, trying not to stare at the scabbing cut over Fraser’s left eye. “Sure, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Bemused, he watched his partner move slowly and stiffly to Ray’s own desk. After carefully placing the restored photo beneath his navy coat, Fraser removed the bag that Turnbull had brought with him, taking a piece of deformed wood that had been sitting next to it as well. Then Fraser hurried as quickly as his gimpy leg would allow to the men’s room. 

Bewildered as to what his partner was up to, Ray stood waiting patiently while the party started thinning out around him. The choir broke up as its leader left for the day. 

His interest sparking, Ray watched Welsh and the Ice Queen approach him on their way to the door.

“Good night, Detective, and Merry Christmas,” Welsh wished as he passed by Ray’s spot beside the tree. 

He couldn’t help but notice the hand his boss had on the Inspector’s elbow.

“Ah, Merry Christmas, sir, and you too, Inspector.”

“Merry Christmas, Detective Vecchio. Constable Fraser drove over with me, but I’m afraid...” Thatcher stopped speaking, her face turning a delightful, flustered pink.

Giving a wicked grin, Ray said, “Don’t worry. I got Fraser covered.”

“Thank you, detective. Merry Christmas,” she somehow made the benediction sound like an order. She was some piece of work. 

His speculations running wild, he watched the pair depart. Who would’ve thunk it? The Ice Queen and the Lieutenant? Ray wouldn’t take the Thatcher on a dare if they were the last two people on Earth, but...she’d looked almost human on Welsh’s arm. Glad that his often-lonely boss was going to have someone to spend the holidays with, Ray went back to people watching. 

In less than five minutes, Fraser returned, with another brightly wrapped present.

“What’s this?” Kowalski asked as Fraser awkwardly held the package out to him. 

“Your Christmas present. I regret that it wasn’t under the tree with the others.”

“You got me something?” Ray tried not to sound so shocked. The guy was his partner, after all. It was only...with the exception of the shirts his mom had sent from Arizona and the gun Dewey had given him earlier, Ray had received no other presents this year.

“No, I made it for you,” Fraser quietly corrected.

“You made it for me?”

No one had ever made him anything before. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. There was that dream catcher Fraser had given him when they’d met last April, but that didn’t really count, as Fraser had made it for the Real Ray Vecchio and given it to him to commemorate Vecchio’s birthday.

“Yes, I...well, I hope you like it, Ray. Would you care to open it?”

Unable to keep his smile off his face, Ray quickly tore open the cheerful holly print paper. Wrapped in cushioning white tissue paper, Ray discovered a figurine inside. Careful of the delicate sculpture, Ray extracted it from its wrappings. 

“Is this ivy, I mean, ivory?” Ray questioned, taking in the yellowish white material from which the eight-inch statue was made. The figure itself was that of a deer, a deer with long antlers and a really fuzzy neck.

The workmanship was exquisite, finely detailed. Looking at the deer, Ray couldn’t understand what Fraser was doing wasting his time in police work, not when he could make beautiful stuff like this.

“No, it’s wood, Ray. I made it from the log we bought in the mall the other day,” Fraser looked as if he were going to say more, but then seemed to think better of it.

“Cool. Thanks, man. It’s great.”

“Do you really like it, Ray?” 

When was the last time anyone had sounded that worried over whether he was going to care for something or not? His mom, maybe, but that was about it.

“Yeah, Fraser. I really, really like it. Thank you. I mean that.”

To his delight, a legitimate, if small, smile lifted Fraser’s banged up mouth. “You are most welcome, Ray.” As if needing to break the intensity of the moment, Fraser looked away quickly. “It appears that the party is breaking up. I’d best locate Inspector Thatcher and – " 

“The Ice Queen split,” Ray informed.

“What?”

“She and Welsh took off together. I told her I’d see you home. You about ready to call it a night?”

“Yes, I’ll just be a moment to get my coat.”

Going to claim his own jacket from the coat rack in the corner, Ray watched his partner’s stiff progress to his desk and back. The poor guy looked like he was hurting like hell. 

Another few minutes to track down the cookie-stuffed wolf, and they were on their way.

Belatedly remembering that he was still wearing the Sacred Stetson, Ray paused in the bitter winds as they stepped out of the building, into the parking lot. It had started snowing again, not a lot, but enough to make things slippery and hard to see. “You want your hat back now?”

Fraser glanced up at the headpiece in question, then looked at Ray’s eyes. For some reason, the moment felt very significant, as Fraser seemed to consider the question. Finally, Fraser gave a slow shake of his head and said, “Not unless you’re bored with it.”

“I like the hat,” Ray admitted, feeling strangely shy.

The smile Fraser gave him had to have hurt his cut lip. “Why don’t you wear it for a while, then?”

“Thanks,” Ray smiled back, feeling weird, like he’d just been pinned or something. To his knowledge, Fraser never let anyone wear the hat. 

The cold was bitter. Normally, Ray would have hurried to the car, but he kept pace with his injured partner. Fraser’s slow, careful steps told him more about how bad his friend was hurting than any amount of complaining ever could.

Ray made sure he got to the passenger door first so that Fraser didn’t have to wait in the cold.

Once Dief was in the back and Fraser was safely installed in the passenger seat, Ray slid into his own side of the car. 

“Yow! Damn, that smarts!” Ray rubbed under the hat, where it had struck his forehead when the brim had impacted with the side of the door. 

“Yes, it takes some time to learn to navigate properly,” Fraser supplied from beside him. “Perhaps if you remove the hat while driving?”

“No, I can manage,” Ray denied, oddly unwilling to part with the Stetson so soon. He just made it into the GTO with the hat on. The top of the Stetson brushed the padded roof, but he wasn’t taking it off until Fraser asked for it back. 

Ray tried not to fuss, but just seeing how stiffly Fraser was sitting beside him gave him some idea of the discomfort level. Frase was by nature a little uptight, but this was extreme even for him.

He didn’t even want to think how that tiny cot Fraser slept on at the Consulate was going to feel under all those bruises. Just sitting on the damn thing was uncomfortable, with the way its supporting metal slats poked through the thin mattress to jab into you. If Fraser weren’t stiff as a board now, he would be by morning, unless...

“Hey,” Ray said pulling out into traffic. “I got an idea. Why don’t you come home with me tonight? Save those aching bones a night on that cot.”

“Thank you, Ray, but that isn’t necessary,” Fraser instantly denied, as Kowalski had known he would.

“Come on. It’ll be fun,” he cajoled, abruptly not wanting to go back to that empty apartment alone on Christmas Eve.

“No, Ray, I – ”

“No, what?” he interrupted. “You’re not on duty. I know the Ice Queen gave you the weekend off. It’s not like you’ve got anything waiting for you at the Consulate.”

“Nevertheless, I – ” 

“You what? Look,” Ray sighed, really not wanting to do this, but seeing no other way for it. If he didn’t tell the truth, Fraser would definitely go home. Given the choice of a little humiliation or that empty apartment, Ray opted for the humiliation, “it’s Christmas. My family’s a thousand miles away. Yours are dead. You don’t come home with me, we’re both gonna have a miserable, depressing time. I know that you'd rather spend Christmas with the real Ray Vecchio, but since the Real Ray’s not here, can’t you make due with the one you’ve got?”

To his own ears, he sounded pathetic. But, Christ, he really didn’t want to spend the next twenty-four hours alone. If he had to throw his pride away to get some congenial company, so be it. Fraser wasn’t the kind to rub his nose in it. The polite Canadian wouldn’t make him feel like a loser. As long as Fraser agreed to come home with him, everything would work out fine.

“I’m sorry, Ray.”

He winced. He nodded once, stiff and accepting. A lumpy cot and an empty office building closed for the holidays were preferable to his company. He could deal. 

“Okay,” he said hollowly, “I’ll take you home.”

“No, Ray. What I meant was...I’m sorry I didn’t think of your family being so distant before. I would be honored to accept your invitation. In fact, there is no one with whom I’d rather spend the holiday.”

Ray glanced quickly from the road to his partner. Fraser sounded like he meant the words, looked like he did, too.

“Yeah?” Ray checked.

“Yes, Ray.”

“Great, that’s...great.” Recalling his near empty fridge, Ray asked, “You hungry? If you are we better pick up some Chinese on the way home. I don’t think there’ll be much else open tonight.” 

“No, I...there was quite a bit at the party.”

It wasn’t a lie. There’d been tons of food at the Christmas Party. Fraser just hadn’t touched any of it. Ray knew because the group he’d been hanging with had been grazing while they talked. As far as Kowalski remembered, Fraser had never left his lonely spot by the tree the entire time. 

“Well, I’m starved.” That was a lie. He’d stuffed himself the same as the other detectives. “There’s China King. It looks like it’s still open. I’ll just run in and get us something to nosh on.”

“As you wish,” Fraser allowed.

“You gonna be okay out here?” Ray asked as he parked the car in the lot.

“We’re fine, Ray,” Fraser assured.

“Good. I’ll be back in a sec’.”

Ten minutes later, he eased back into the car, careful of his packages. This time, he automatically tipped his head so that he didn’t bash the Stetson again.

“Very good, Ray. You’re a natural,” Fraser approved. “What have you got there? That’s a lot of bags.”

All he said was, “Dinner,” though he knew that nose of Fraser’s was bound to be sniffing out the particulars. What he had was all of Fraser’s favorites. Something was bound to tempt the peckish Mountie’s palate. He’d gotten his own regular pork fried rice dish and an extra dozen spring rolls for Dief. Fraser wasn’t gonna be too happy about that, but tough. It was Christmas and the mutt was part of the team. The wolf deserved a treat, same as them.

The bags were still fragrant and steaming hot when they pulled into his parking spot a few minutes later. 

Opening his apartment door, Ray experienced a brief moment of panic. The place was its usual mess, but more than that, he’d forgotten about the artificial tree he’d put up a few days ago when he’d still had hopes of luring Stella back for the holiday. As the apartment lights blinked on, the tree stood bleak and undecorated on a card table by the window. The abandoned boxes of lights and decorations on the floor around it seemed an odd parody of the gifts of Christmas morning.

Kowalski was tensely anticipating some kind of comment on the mess or the job half finished. Fraser was such a conscientious neat freak that something like this was bound to offend his sense of order. 

Instead, his partner’s voice sounded brighter than it had since Warfield’s goons had worked him over. There was something very young and animated about Fraser’s reaction, like in that moment of surprise at the unexpected sight of the tree, the poor kid that had been crushed into this super-Mountie years ago peeked out from the controlled prison Fraser kept him locked behind.

“Oh, you have a tree. It’s very nice, Ray,” Fraser approved as they moved into the room. 

The white wolf went immediately over to sniff at the newcomer and boxes, excitedly wagging his tail. Kowalski was reminded how Dief had helped Francesca decorate the precinct, how the wolf had really seemed to enjoy his participation.

“It’s pathetic, I know,” Ray admitted, looking at the scraggly, undecorated thing with an objective eye. It was a poor substitute for a real tree or even for the full sized artificial one in the precinct. “But it doesn’t look too bad when it’s got lights on it.”

“I’m sure it will look wonderful once we place the lights and ornaments on it. I’ve never actually decorated a Christmas Tree before,” Fraser offered in a somewhat hesitant tone, almost as if he were trying to warn Ray not to expect him to do very well at the task.

Ray paused, a little thrown by his partner’s misconception. He hadn’t brought Fraser here for that. In all honesty, he’d all but forgotten he’d put the damn thing up. He’d been planning to just take the stupid tree down and bury it away for a happier year, only...

In his uptight, restrained way, Fraser looked excited about the idea of decorating a tree. And since he’d already put the thing up and it was Christmas Eve...trimming the tree mightn’t be such a bad idea.

So, rather than squashing Fraser’s rare show of true excitement, Ray replied to Fraser’s comment about never having decorated a tree before. “You haven’t? I thought you said you had some kinda tern tree?”

When Fraser’s smile blinked off, he knew that he’d unintentionally hit a sore point. 

In his normal pedantic tone, Fraser patiently explained, “No, Ray, the arctic tern is a bird. We used to have it instead of turkey. In place of an evergreen tree, we had a buckthorn bush.”

“You didn’t put lights on it?” Ray questioned, not seeing the point of bringing in a tree if you weren’t going to light it up.

“Unfortunately, the buckthorn bush was too flammable to risk candles.”

“Candles?” Ray blankly echoed.

“We had no electricity, Ray,” Fraser softly explained.

Seeing that same pain that had shadowed Fraser’s Christmas ‘forgiveness’ toast in his friend’s eyes, he swallowed around the lump in his throat. Ray couldn’t even conceive of what this guy’s childhood must have been like. He knew Fraser’s mother had died when he was six. For a little kid without a mother to have no tree, no lights, no turkey...it must have been horrible. His folks had always provided him with wonderful Christmases. It was only after he’d gotten married to Stellanezer Scrooge that Ray’s holidays had sucked. But from the sound of it, Fraser had never known a real Christmas. 

Abruptly, Ray was very glad that he’d gone with the impulse to bring Fraser here. With Vecchio gone, Fraser would have been miserable alone in that big empty Consulate building. 

At that moment, he wanted very much to give Fraser everything he’d missed out on in childhood. “Well, we got plenty of electricity here and plenty of lights. We don’t have no turkey, but I got you chicken chow mein. Will that do, or do you want to go out and have a turkey dinner?”

Fraser actually seemed at a loss for a moment after Ray’s offer, then he collected himself with a visible effort, swallowed hard and answered, “Chicken chow mein will be wonderful, Ray. Thank you kindly.”

“Good, let’s dig in, then,” Ray said with a smile, quickly clearing off the coffee table. The kitchen was too big a disaster zone to even consider bringing Fraser there to eat in it. Dief would probably be hunting out there all night, Ray thought to himself as he braved the room to fetch paper plates, cups, plastic utensils and soft drinks. 

When he came back out with his arms laden, Fraser was in the act of divesting himself of his coat. Ray smiled to see Fraser fight his bulging coat closet for space. If Fraser thought that big navy jacket of his was going to fit in there, he had another think coming. Honestly impressed, Ray watched his partner successfully shove it in. 

After dumping his armload of disposable dinnerware on the coffee table beside the sacks of Chinese food, Ray tugged his own leather jacket off his shoulders. The lump that started to fall out of his left pocket before he caught it, proved to be his Christmas gift from Fraser. Still a little in awe of his partner’s artistic talent, he placed the deer on the table with near reverence, in a place of honor next to his turtle carving, then tossed his coat to a chair in the corner.

“Simple, but effective,” Fraser stunned him by commenting when his jacket landed in an untidy heap on the floor beside the chair. To Ray’s further astonishment, Fraser didn’t race immediately over to straighten the coat out.

He met his partner’s gaze and broke into laughter. Fraser really looked as if he were enjoying himself, pigsty and all.

“Sit down and dig in before Dief eats it all,” Ray grinned, taking a seat on the couch to sort out the food. He emptied the carton of spring rolls onto a plate and placed it on the floor beside the couch. Dief pounced on the offering as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

Fraser settled himself on the cushion beside him more carefully, moving with obvious difficulty. Ray tried not to mother hen, watching silently out of the corner of his eye as Fraser first covered his tunic with one of the large napkins the restaurant had provided, then investigated the bags and loaded down his plate.

Ray was glad he’d insisted on getting the dinner, for it was clear Fraser was close to famished. Fraser dug in like he hadn’t eaten in a year, which probably meant that Fraser had stood at that damn stakeout outside Warfield’s club without even allowing himself meal breaks. Little wonder Dief had been so happy when he’d come to pick them up yesterday afternoon, Ray thought. He smiled affectionately over at the wolf, who was currently demolishing the plate of spring rolls with slightly less zeal than his Mountie.

“Mmmm, that was very good,” Fraser approved when his plate was empty.

Stunned, Ray realized that his friend had gone through two whole orders while he’d barely made an inroad into his own rice dish. Even Dief was behind Fraser as far as consumption went tonight.

“Sure was,” Ray agreed, passing over the rest of his own pork fried rice, “Go on and finish it. It’ll just get thrown out.”

Not wanting to make Fraser self-conscious by staring while he ate, Ray’s gaze roamed the room, finally coming to settle on the deer statue Fraser had made him.

“Frase?”

“Mmmm...yes?” Fraser asked around a mouthful of rice.

“What made you make a deer for me?” he asked the question that had been bothering him since he’d seen the exquisite carving.

“It’s not a deer, Ray. It’s an elk.”

“Oh.” Well, that made even less sense, since he obviously didn’t know the difference between an elk and deer. “There’s a difference?”

“Yes, Ray. Elk are much larger. The males can be almost as large as a moose at times. And, as you can see, the elk have a shaggy neck while the deer are usually much smoother there.”

“Yeah, but why an elk? Why not a wolf or a eagle or something more familiar?”

“I was attempting to choose gifts that suited the recipient’s specific personality. For example, the sculpture of DAVID I made for Francesca. It embodied what she admires most in a man.”

“Good looks and a big – ”

“Precisely,” Fraser primly cut him off before he could get too explicit. Chuckling at Fraser’s reaction, he listened as Fraser continued with, “And when I thought I was making a gift for Leftenant Welsh, I was crafting a grizzly bear...”

“So let me get this straight? Welsh reminds you of a macho grizzly bear and the guy that covers your back reminds you of Bambi?” Ray tried not to sound hurt, but he just didn’t get it. He knew Fraser couldn’t be intending to insult him, but it really wasn’t very flattering.

“No, Ray. The choice was symbolic. I tried to base my decision on personality characteristics that would associate the recipient with certain Native totems. For instance, the Leftenant exhibits many of the protective instincts of a bear and he can be rather...”

“Grizzly when annoyed,” he laughed. “Okay, I can see it working for Welsh, but a deer, I mean...a elk. How am I like a elk?”

To his astonishment, Fraser’s cheeks turned bright pink. “Although the bear is a perfectly respectable totem, most young men would much rather hear from their tribal elder that they have elk medicine rather than bear, Ray.”

“Why?” Ray asked. “Don’t get me wrong, that elk sculpture’s beautiful, but why would some young stud wanta be an oversized deer instead of a kick ass predator like a bear or a wolf.”

“I told you it was symbolic, Ray,” Fraser repeated.

And suddenly, he knew his partner was evading him. “Yeah, and I still don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. Symbolic of what?” 

Fraser released one of those deep, controlled, Mountie, not-sighs and softly admitted, “The elk is a symbol of male virility, Ray.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke, Fraser?” Ray demanded, stung. “‘cause if it is, it’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke, Ray. I swear.”

He glared into those earnest eyes, reading no malice. “How can a symbol of male virility fit me? I haven’t had a successful date since my wife walked out on me. I’ve struck out with every woman I’ve even tried to...”

“All that, notwithstanding, the elk suits you, Ray. You have all the necessary qualities.”

“Such as?” Ray demanded, sounding angry, but scared underneath it ‘cause he still couldn’t see how this could be anything but a gag. Except that it was Fraser saying it, and he knew that his partner wouldn't joke about this kind of thing.

“You are quite attractive physically. Despite your claims to the contrary, you have great physical stamina and strength. Your natural sensuality reveals itself in your very individual style of hair and dress. You are charismatic and charming-”

“You really think I’m all that?” Ray knew his cheeks were flaming with embarrassment. He hadn’t meant for Fraser to recite a list of his charms. 

“Evidently, or I would have chosen a more appropriate totem.”

Ray had never asked another human being this in his life, but he found himself voicing the question to Fraser. His partner knew stuff, maybe Fraser would be able to explain this mystery to him. “If all that’s true, then how come I strike out so much with women?”

Ray tensed when he saw Fraser’s head bow and that thumb come up to outline the eyebrow of the eye that hadn’t gotten beaten up. He mightn’t know as much stuff as his partner, but the one thing Stanley Raymond Kowalski did understand in life was body language. He had to; when you missed so much of conversations, accurately interpreting body language was often your only key to understanding. When that thumb started outlining Fraser’s brow, it always meant trouble, for it meant Fraser was trying to find the best way to say something.

“Don’t worry about breaking it to me gently,” Ray said, “Just spit it out.”

“I think it could be a presentation dilemma,” Fraser cautiously suggested.

Ray had been braced for something like bad breath or body odor. He didn’t have a clue as to what Fraser was talking about. Not that that was anything new. “Presentation dilemma?”

Fraser nodded, then softly explained, “This is purely my subjective opinion, of course, but close observation over the time I’ve known you does seem to lend credence to the theory.”

“What theory?”

“It seems to me that you approach your objective as though you expect to be turned down. It’s something of a self-fulfilling prophecy, I fear. You expect to be rejected; therefore, you are.”

“You mean, like, I program myself to fail?” he asked in a low voice, considering the possibility. The fact that he had to ask Fraser these questions at all pretty much confirmed that his self-esteem when it came to women was in the toilet.

“So it would seem,” Fraser gently agreed. Ray could almost feel how hard Fraser was trying to avoid hurting his feelings or offending his pride. “It’s the only theory I can find to explain why someone with as many positive qualities as you possess would encounter such inexplicable difficulties.”

“Inexplicable? That means like-”

“Unable to be explained,” Fraser automatically defined. As always, Fraser didn’t seem annoyed at the necessity. Stella had always hated having to explain herself that way.

“So, you really think that’s the only reason?” Kowalski pressed, holding his breath. Fraser always told the truth. Ray wondered if he’d even comprehend his partner’s version of ‘you’re too stupid to live’.

“It’s the only thing I can think of, Ray,” Fraser continued. “Your divorce was quite a traumatic event. It’s left many scars behind. I think if you give yourself some time to heal, you’ll find these difficulties will soon be behind you.” 

Ray’s eyes stung like someone had released a teargas canister into the room. He looked quickly away. Fraser didn’t think he was stupid? Just that he was hurt and lacked confidence? 

“Thanks,” Ray said gruffly, not daring to look at his friend just yet. His entire life, there had only been two people who’d never thought of him as stupid. His mom and Stella, and he’d managed to show Stella how wrong she’d been. That this man, who’d forgotten more book knowledge than his brainy ex-wife could ever hope to learn, could view him as a symbol of male virility was astonishing.

“For?” Fraser questioned, sounding genuinely puzzled.

“For what you said.”

“It was just the truth, Ray.”

“Your truth, maybe. No one else’s,” Ray muttered into his coke can. He still couldn’t believe that Fraser, who as his partner had more of a reason to know his faults than anyone, would be oblivious to his major shortcoming.

“I don’t understand.”

“No one else sees me quite like that. Most people...” Kowalski took a deep breath and spat it out. “Most people think I’m stupid.”

“Those same people think I’m hopelessly naive. They are wrong in both cases, Ray.”

Still fearing a snow job, he dared his partner’s gaze. Fraser met his eyes easily. Fraser’s battered face was practically glowing with conviction. No lies, no pretenses, just honest belief.

“But...” Ray stammered.

“Both our minds work differently than the norm, Ray. “

“But I’m not smart like you. I don’t know things-”

“And I’m not what you would call ‘street-wise’. That does not make either of us stupid, Ray, just...different. And you do know things. In most cases, you know exactly what I’m speaking about.”

“But it gets lost inside my head and...” Ray shut up. What was the point?

“Ray, I believe you have a mild case of aphasia, but that is not a statement on your intelligence and in no way inhibits your ability to perform your duties or-”

“Af..?”

“Aphasia. It’s a condition wherein a person has difficulty verbalizing his thoughts. The ideas, even the vocabulary, are all there inside the aphasiac’s mind, but something in the neural network doesn’t allow the aphasiac to easily articulate his thoughts.”

Ray stared at his friend. He’d never spoken to Fraser about this before, but that was exactly how it was. Everything was jumbled in his head and he just couldn’t get it out right. How Fraser could have known a thing like that was beyond him. 

“So how do you know that I’m not just stupid?” Kowalski quizzed.

“Because I know you. I’ve seen your intelligence in the field. I’ve seen how quickly you assess complex situations and follow through.”

“I’ve got good instincts,” Ray argued.

“No, it’s more than just instinct at work. You have explained some of my vocabulary to Leftenant Welsh and others on occasion, demonstrating a familiarity with language outside of the common street vernacular. You understand things perfectly, it’s only verbalization that appears to present you with difficulty.”

“And focus,” Ray whispered.

Fraser’s voice was oddly gentle as he replied, “Yes, but you’ve learned to cover that well.”

“You know,” Kowalski nearly accused.

“Yes, but I observe things a bit more closely than most people do. And I am your partner and friend. It is only natural that those closest to us know our weaknesses.”

Ray laughed at that. “Then why don’t I know yours?”

“What?” Fraser started.

“You’re a siphon, Fraser."

"A what?" Fraser blinked, his visible confusion making it clear that he'd once again picked the wrong word.

"You know, like a puzzle. A siph – "

"Cipher?" Fraser supplied.

"Yeah, a cipher. You drive everybody nuts. You don’t let anyone see that you have any character flaws or weaknesses...”

“Ray,” Fraser protested, sounding almost hurt, “you more than anybody know that isn’t true.”

“Do I?” Kowalski challenged. “You’re smart; you’re brave; you’re trust-worthy; you’re good-looking. You’ve got it all going for you.”

Anyone else would have been pleased by the compliments, but Fraser seemed as distressed as a man who never openly showed his emotions could get. With his banged up face, cut and swollen lower lip, Fraser seemed strangely vulnerable as he replied, “I’m not perfect, Ray. I have faults the same as anyone. In fact, you spent several minutes yesterday extolling them in front of Mr. Warfield’s club.”

Ray got lost on the ‘extolling’ word, but he figured out its meaning from the rest of what his partner said. “I already told you that I was sorry about that.”

“I – ”

“Your heart was in the right place. Maybe you were bein’ stubborn and pig-headed about it, but that doesn’t change the fact that everything you said about Warfield needing to be stopped was true.”

“And being stubborn and pig-headed aren’t faults?” Fraser softly queried, sounding as though this entire conversation was hurting him too much to continue.

“Not when you’re standing up for truth, justice and the Canadian Way,” Ray tried to lighten the mood.

His attempt at humor fell flat. For beneath that outer, unperturbed mask, Fraser was obviously deeply hurt. “I’m not Superman, Ray.”

“No, you’re braver than he was,” he shot back, not knowing how to cheer his friend up.

“What?”

“It’s easy to run around stopping crime when you’re made of steel and the bullets bounce right off you. You do what he did, only you do it without the superpowers. And you don’t even pack a gun.”

“Ray, I’m not a comic book hero. I’m just a man, a very fallible one at that.”

Recognizing that this conversation wasn’t doing anything but upsetting his friend, Ray shrugged and conceded, “I know that, but the rest of the world ain't as sharp as me. They believe your act.” Thinking that a change in topic would do them some good, he gestured at the tree and boxes. “You still feel like trimming the tree?”

Still way too subdued for Ray’s liking, Fraser nodded, “Yes.”

“Great. I’ve got some Christmas CDs. I’ll stick them in the stereo, get some egg nog going and we’ll be all set.”

“You have eggnog?” Fraser appeared startled. Not without reason, Ray realized. Most times when Fraser visited, he was lucky to have milk in liquid form. More than once, what was living in the milk container turned out to be a yogurt culture or science project.

“Yeah. I was hoping Stella might want to get together over the holidays. Eggnog’s the only thing she liked about Christmas.”

He didn’t realize how pathetic that statement sounded till it was laying out there in the open between them. 

But Fraser didn’t remark upon the sorry state of his partner’s love life, asking instead, “Can I help you in the kitchen?”

“No, believe me, you’ll sleep better not helpin’ me in the kitchen.”

That earned him a small smile, “Understood. I will sort the boxes out while you’re seeing to the music and refreshments, then.”

“Great,” Ray grinned, unable to remember the last time he’d had enthusiastic company while decorating the tree. The most he’d ever hoped for with Stella here was sullen silence. She’d really hated all the fuss and sentimentality of the season. 

As Fraser hobbled over to the cardboard crates and began to separate the boxes of delicate balls and strings of beads, he began to wonder why he’d wanted Stella here at all. Surely, even being alone had to be better than being with someone who made him feel dumb for wanting to enjoy the season? Struck with the unique thought that maybe it wasn’t so much that he missed Stella as much as he hated living alone, Ray loaded a bunch of discs into the CD player, then went to the kitchen for the egg nog and anything that passed for party food.

Five minutes later, the elk sculpture was sharing the coffee table with a couple of mugs of eggnog, a bowl of M&Ms and a bag of Doritos. 

As they began the exasperating task of untangling the lights for the tree, Ray realized that the impromptu tree trimming party wasn’t half bad. The carols going in the background really set the Christmas tone. And he’d never had such congenial company. If Stella had been here and he’d forced her to help decorate the tree, she’d’ve been cursing the tangled lights by now. Instead of angry profanity, Ray had quiet companionship. 

Glancing over to where his oh-so-serious partner was coaxing the tangled strings of lights apart in that careful, thoughtful way of his, he realized that he was really enjoying himself doing this for the first time in years.

“No, boy, I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to help this time.”

Ray looked over from the blond angel he was sticking on top of the tree to see his partner arguing with the wolf. Fraser had a handful of green-wired lights, which Dief appeared to be trying to take from Fraser.

“Why can’t he help?” Ray wanted to know.

“He doesn’t have hands, Ray. He can’t-”

“Dief helped Francesca put up that whole tree at work. He’s part of the team. If he wants to help, we should let him. Right?”

Fraser’s brow furrowed before Fraser winced at the pain it caused his bruised face, “But how can he..?”

“Let him hold the lights while we string them. Just tell him not to bite down. Okay?”

“All right, Ray,” Fraser conceded, his expression very soft, despite the fact that he wasn’t smiling at the moment. “You heard Ray, Dief. Be careful with them.”

Shaking his head at his crazy partner, he secured the angel to the top branch, then reached out for the strand of lights Fraser was holding out to him. They spent the next half hour quietly loading the tree down with as many lights as each branch could safely hold. Finally, the lights were done – without a single curse word being voiced. Ray was amazed by how well the three of them had worked together. Whenever one of the strings would snag, Fraser would patiently work the green wire free while Ray waited to secure it to the branch.

“I believe that is the last of the lights,” Fraser said. 

“Great. You wanna douse the overhead light while I plug it in?” Ray asked, excited as a kid by the Christmas spirit. 

He felt a little guilty for asking Fraser to move as his injured partner hobbled over to the wall switch, but then Fraser was saying “All set, Ray,” and Kowalski was plugging in the tree lights. 

The world blinked dark for a moment, and then the tree shimmered to life with a thousand green, red, blue and yellow bulbs proclaiming the season. It was as close to magic as you could get, Ray thought, shivering a little as O HOLY NIGHT played in the background. Ray couldn’t have set the mood any better if he’d planned it.

He rose from the socket just in time to catch the fleeting expression of delight that flashed across Fraser’s battered features as the lights blazed to life. It wasn’t something Ray had seen very often, for Fraser habitually squelched his emotions when he was able to. Though the expression was quickly gone, Ray felt as if he’d received a rare and priceless gift just by witnessing it. If he did nothing else for Fraser in their time together, Ray wanted to make his friend feel comfortable enough to laugh out loud with him. It happened every now and then, when his partner’s guards were down, but Fraser would usually cut his laughter off fast, almost like someone had yelled at him long and loud for having fun. 

Without his glasses on, each light had a little hazy halo around it, but Ray sort of liked that effect. When he looked at Fraser standing backlit by the tree, Fraser seemed to have the same kind of glow limning his trim form. Fraser’s brass buttons and epaulettes reflected the dozens of colored lights like tiny kaleidoscopes. Ray found his gaze roaming as often to them as to the tree.

“What next, Ray?”

“The ornaments and then the beads.”

They dug into the compartmentalized boxes, carefully extracting the delicate glass balls. Fraser seemed especially fond of the tear shaped ones with the tiny stained glass and glitter fronts. Amused, Ray watched his partner analyze the placement of each decoration as though he were arranging a table for an important Consulate event. He hung his own with less care, but far more visible enthusiasm than Fraser was displaying. Nevertheless, Ray sensed that Fraser was having the time of his life.

“Are you all right, Ray?” Fraser solicitously enquired as Kowalski froze beside him.

Grinning, Ray nodded. “Yeah. I just love this song,” he explained as FELIZ NAVIDAD’s bouncy intro played through the room.

As always happened whenever Ray stopped thinking around good music, his feet and hips soon picked up the beat. Before he was consciously aware of what was happening, he found himself bopping around his living room the way he would if he were here alone. 

Suddenly, Dief was in front of him, wagging his tail a mile a minute and making little whiney noises. Without thinking, Ray patted his chest for the wolf to stand up on his hind legs, which Dief quickly did. Ray chuckled as Dief’s hot, moist dog breath wafted into his face. Then the pair of them were shuffling around the box obstructed living room floor in time to the exuberant Christmas song, with Ray singing at the top of his lungs and Dief barking his head off. 

It was only as the song came to its inevitable end and they stopped dancing, that Ray came back to himself to find he was standing in the middle of the floor with his partner’s wolf giving his face a very messy bath. 

“That’s a good dog,” Ray said, easing the wolf back down onto all fours. He couldn’t count how many times his buddies had laughed at him in high school when he’d lost control like that. He couldn’t imagine what Fraser must be thinking. Hoping against hope that Fraser had been too occupied to notice his idiocy, Kowalski slowly turned back to the tree – to find Fraser watching him.

“Ah, I...” Ray stammered for something to say that wouldn’t sound too lame.

“You dance very well, Ray. I had no idea Diefenbaker enjoyed dancing so much,” Fraser commented, and then turned to place a silver ball on the tree.

“That’s, like, all you’re gonna say about it?” he asked in disbelief. 

“I don’t understand,” Fraser said softly. Turning back to face him, Fraser looked as though he genuinely didn’t get it.

“A move like that's enough ammo to torture me for years,” he explained, at times like this still not sure this guy was human. 

“Torture you?” Fraser repeated, blessedly blank.

“Yeah. Dancin’ alone isn’t not exactly cool.”

“But this is a party, Ray. Isn’t dancing a normal party activity?”

“Not usually with a wolf, Fraser.”

“Well, it’s only the three of us here, Ray. I’m afraid my injuries preclude dancing at the present time. That leaves only Diefenbaker. I’m sure anyone would understand.”

“You mean you dance with your wolf?” Ray asked, unable to even picture it.

“No, Ray, as I said, I had no idea he enjoyed the activity. What I meant was, your dancing with Diefenbaker would be understandable since your human companion was out of commission at the moment.”

Ray supposed that made sense in Canada. In Chicago, it sounded weirder than dancing with a wolf. 

“You saying that if you weren’t out of commission, you’d dance with me?” he asked, sure he must have phased out of the conversation at a vital moment.

“If you were so inclined and I was able to. It is a party, Ray.”

“But it’s just the two of us,” Ray argued, trying not to show how weirded out he was.

“Ah, I understand,” Fraser started. “You see, in the Yukon, men far outnumber the women. Very often at social functions, there are not enough women to partner every man on the dance floor, so men will frequently dance together. There are no social connotations to the pairing, beyond that of necessity.”

“Oh,” Ray nodded, “figures.”

“What figures, Ray?”

“Well, with the way the women are all over you, I’m sure you never had to dance with a guy anyway.”

“To the contrary, Ray. I habitually danced with other men,” Fraser corrected.

“But you said – ”

Fraser gave one of those almost-sighs and patiently explained, “You may have noticed that I am frequently...tongue tied in a young lady’s presence. At parties where the women were outnumbered, it was simply easier for me to dance with another man.”

“And at parties where the women weren’t outnumbered?” Ray questioned, sensing something more here.

Fraser gave a small shrug, winced in reaction, and then softly replied, “I didn’t usually dance at those parties.”

Ray froze at that. He wondered if Fraser knew precisely what he’d just admitted to there, but his partner’s bland, unperturbed visage told him Fraser didn’t have a clue. 

Ray opened his mouth to continue the line of questioning, but then closed it. What was he going to do? Point out to Fraser that it was abnormal for a guy not to want to dance with girls? And, abnormal by whose standards? 

Maybe there was an innocent explanation for his partner’s very provocative statement, after all, he thought.

Ray had seen the way otherwise perfectly sensible women embarrassed themselves by chasing after his reserved partner. He couldn’t see women being all that different up in the Yukon. No matter where Fraser went in this world, he was going to be in demand. While being desired by every woman he met might be most men’s dream come true, that wasn’t the case with Fraser. With extremely persistent suitors like Frannie, the shy Mountie was almost terrified of their aggression. Perhaps it was only understandable that Fraser would prefer to let his hair down and dance with a male friend, who wasn’t going to be looking for a marriage proposal after the second dance. It made sense in a weird way, in the same weird way everything about Fraser made sense.

As if belatedly realizing how his reply must have sounded, Fraser nervously offered, “I suppose that must sound very strange to you.”

“No, not so strange. Well, no stranger than anything else about you,” Ray grinned, glad to see the strained edge fade from those battered features. “Come on, let’s get this tree decorated,” he suggested, needing to change the subject. 

“Yes, it’s looking quite good,” Fraser agreed, visibly relieved.

Side by side, they went back to decorating the tree while the CD put forth a backdrop of syrupy carols.

*******************

“Are the loops even now, Ray?” Fraser questioned, reaching up to the top branch to adjust the angle of the top string of silver beads.

“It was even before,” Ray replied. 

Fraser noted that his partner did not even bother to look up from the ornament boxes he was attempting to return to their original positions in the large cardboard box that stored them.

Still not satisfied, Fraser stood up on tip toes to even out the bead string...and almost fell right onto the tree as his back and shoulders cramped up. The pain was surreal, like a red-hot poker across his consciousness. His hands pin wheeled frantically, looking for a purchase to halt his descent, but there was only the tree in front of him. He was going to knock it over...

Strong hands halted his plunge, practically plucking him out of the air. 

“Would you sit down before you fall down already?”

Fraser blinked into his partner’s worried blue eyes, a little dazzled by the rainbow of colored lights reflected in Ray’s pupils. Ray was holding him up, his lean, hard body wedged so close to him that Fraser could feel the heat pouring off the other man. He could also smell the remaining traces of Ray’s soap and shampoo from his morning shower, as well as the fresh, clean scent of the man himself. 

His pulse starting to race at Ray's proximity, Fraser quickly taking a step back from Ray. He could manage with Ray's hands on him, but their whole fronts were touching, his body was bound to betray him.

“I’m sorry, Ray. I lost my footing. I’m fine. Really-”

“Fraser, you look like Foreman after Ali was through with him. I’ve been telling you for a half hour to take a rest. Sit down, now,” Ray ordered in a no-nonsense tone, guiding Fraser over to the couch.

“But the beads...” Fraser protested, hating to give in to physical weakness of any type.

“You supervise. I’ll fix the damn beads,” Ray said, his guiding hands easing Fraser down onto the sofa. “You want more eggnog?”

Not knowing how to accept his partner’s rough concern, Fraser gave a wordless shake of his head. It shamed him how glad his aching body was to be sitting.

“The beads...” Fraser began, stopped by the expression in Ray’s face. Ray had been so happy before, dancing around with Dief, still wearing Fraser’s own Stetson. Now Ray frowned under the Stetson’s wide brim, visibly worried, perhaps even a little guilty. Because of me, Fraser recognized. His near fall had ruined the party spirit. 

He watched as something akin to resignation flashed across Ray’s expressive features. “I’ll fix them.”

Ray moved quickly to the tree, adroitly maneuvering the string of beads around without knocking off any of the glass ornaments. 

Fraser studied the slim figure as Ray fiddled with the decorations. Ray was such a puzzle. He was so rough and emotionally explosive that he could be over-whelming at times, but there was a gentler side, too, which rarely saw the light of day. It was true that the capacity for violence was the first thing he’d noticed about his new partner, once Fraser had sorted out that he wasn’t going insane and that this wasn’t the original Ray Vecchio. 

From the start, Fraser had sensed the powder keg of emotion just waiting to erupt inside that lean form. Criminals were aware of it as well and responded to it, as did Diefenbaker. Ray Vecchio might have threatened many a miscreant with physical violence if they failed to cooperate, but Vecchio was rarely believed. When Ray Kowalski told a criminal that he was going to kick him in the head, there was no doubt in anybody’s mind that the detective would follow through if he weren’t obeyed. It wasn’t an approach to law enforcement that Fraser was comfortable with, but since most wrongdoers took the warning and behaved themselves, rarely was it an issue in their partnership.

Watching Ray fiddle with the tree, Fraser could see the excess energy almost sparking off the man. Ray was so rarely still, rarely quiescent. He was a live wire, waiting to spark. It was like Ray was living on the edge, just waiting for something to push him over. 

Fraser would have almost been frightened to work with Ray, if that hypertension and suppressed violence were all there was to the man. But buried beneath all that posturing and bluster was a tender side, a kind, lost soul, who lived in a world of self-doubt. Fraser liked that hidden man quite a lot. 

Praying that his observation would be credited to feeling unwell, he watched Ray's whip cord thin figure stretch to adjust the placement of the silver string of beads, impressed as ever with Ray’s easy grace. Ray Kowalski had a very distinct style about him. The faded mauve shirt he was wearing, the ash grey down vest, the black jeans that hugged Ray’s body in all the right places so that you could see the flex of muscles in his buttocks as he made the stretch...all complimented and showcased his lean strength. The borrowed Mountie hat that Ray had yet to remove added a charming, rakish air to his friend. 

Ray looked...good in the Stetson. It suited his friend’s rugged style.

Recalling their earlier, sensitive discussion about Ray’s lack of success with the opposite sex, Fraser was at a loss to understand it as he watched his partner move now. The female of the species had always been a complete mystery to him, but never more so than in their treatment of Ray Kowalski. From their first meeting, Ray's innate sensuality had unnerved him. He'd never met anyone who oozed such raw sexuality, and was so oblivious to his desirability. 

“How’s that?” Ray asked, looking back over his shoulder.

Startled to realize that he hadn’t been paying the least bit of attention to the tree, Fraser took a quick look at the string of beads and approved, “It’s fine, Ray.”

“It looks good, huh?” Ray grinned as he came to take a seat at the opposite end of the couch. His blond hair and eyes were catching the tree lights and reflecting the colors back like a prism as Ray surveyed their work.

“Yes,” Fraser absently agreed, not at all sure what he was complimenting, for he certainly hadn’t been admiring the Christmas tree. His body was hurting far too much. His mind kept wandering, going to places it didn’t usually visit. Perhaps it was merely an effect of the beating he’d taken, some kind of delayed shock, or maybe it was due to the aching sentimentality of the seasonal carols playing in the background. Whatever the cause, Fraser felt very raw inside tonight.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable and embracing as they watched the tree glowing in the darkened apartment.

Fraser sensed Ray’s head turning his way, could almost feel the weight of those bejeweled eyes resting on him in the darkness. Normally, being under Ray’s observation wasn’t the least bit disturbing, but tonight his defenses were weakened and the truth of his heart was too close to the surface. Fraser felt Ray's stare playing across his raw skin like static electricity. It made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

“You look rough,” Ray said at last. “You’re hurting pretty bad, aren’t ya?”

He didn’t bother to deny it. What was the point, after all? Ray had been watching him hobble about all night and knew he was experiencing discomfort. There was no shame in being honest with his friend, and it was a believable explanation for his no doubt visible distraction. “They were professionals, Ray.”

“And you’re treatin’ your injuries like they were a paper cut. If you don’t take care of ‘em, they’re just gonna hurt longer.”

“There’s little to be done,” Fraser commented.

“And you haven’t even done that. Look, I want you to take some Advil and have a hot bath.”

“That isn’t necessary, Ray,” Fraser protested, hating to be fussed over. “I’m – ”

“You’re black and blue from head to foot and stiff all over. You don’t do something now to loosen those muscles up, you’re gonna wake up all cramped.”

“Ray, I – ”

“I’ve been worked over before, Fraser. I know the drill. You do nothin’, you’re gonna feel a thousand times worse in the morning.”

“Nevertheless, I-”

“You what? What is it with you, anyway?” Ray demanded in a strained tone.

“I don’t understand what you’re asking,” Fraser admitted, not wanting to spoil the night by ending it with another senseless argument.

“Why’s it always gotta be so hard with you? Can’t you ever just...relax an’ go with the flow?”

Fraser gulped and stared down at his hands as he looked for his voice. He’d known things were going too good to be true tonight. Every time he’d ever felt like he was actually becoming part of something, the rug would be pulled out from under him and he’d either find himself left alone again or ostracized for his strangeness. 

“Apparently not,” he whispered at last.

There was a change in the air. He didn’t know what it signified, but the tension level on the other side of the couch abruptly plummeted.

Ray released a deep sigh, before saying in a strangely soft tone, “Frase, come on, Benton-buddy, I’m sorry, okay? It’s just...you drive me nuts sometimes.”

“I know,” Fraser answered without looking up, way too aware of the shortcomings that had always kept him apart from others.

“No, I don’t think you do,” Kowalski said. “You don’t understand how...frustratin’ you can be.”

“Don’t I?” Fraser challenged.

“No, you don’t.”

“I beg to differ, Ray. Both of my partners have gone to great length on occasion to detail just how...irritating I can be. Ray, I mean, Ray Vecchio used to say that I was the most annoying man on the planet.” To his consternation, Fraser heard the hurt he couldn’t quite keep out of his tone.

The unnatural silence drew his gaze to his normally talkative partner. Ray looked shocked.

“Vecchio used to say that?”

Fraser nodded, still not breaking eye contact, for all that he wished to hide.

“I thought you guys had, like, the perfect partnership, that I was, like, a poor substitute,” Ray muttered, the words seeming to be directed more to himself than to Fraser.

“You are not a substitute, Ray, let alone a poor one,” Fraser quickly assured, shocked that Ray would think such a thing. “You are a loyal partner and a good friend. Obviously, something I have done has given you this false impression. I – ”

“No,” Ray interrupted. “I just...I know you still miss him.”

Fraser nodded slowly, even that small, careful motion jarring his aching body. “I do miss him. Ray Vecchio was a good friend.” Seeing the pain that flared and was quickly squelched in those Christmas-tree lit, kaleidoscope-colored eyes, Fraser hastily stated, “I miss him the way I would miss you were you to completely disappear from my life now, Ray. Friends of such caliber as you and Ray Vecchio are hard to replace.”

“You-you’d really miss me the same way you miss him? I thought he was...that you guys were, like, the perfect duet.”

There was a question there, beyond the obvious one Ray Kowalski had voiced. “Ray Vecchio and I had a very successful partnership and strong friendship, Ray, I would never deny that, but...it wasn’t perfect. I irritated him the same way I irritate you and – ”

“What about him?” Ray interjected, his expression telling Fraser that this was something Ray had wanted to ask him for some time. “Did he annoy you the same way I do?”

Fraser opened his mouth to assure Ray that both his American partners had irritated him at times, but then shut it again. “I would be lying if I said that my reaction to you both was identical. Ray Vecchio had...certain expectations of me. You don’t have those same expectations of me; hence, there is more...friction in our partnership.”

“What’s that supposed ta mean? Still sounds like a poor second from this end, Fraser.”

Was that how Ray saw himself – as a poor second? Fraser knew that his partner had some self-worth issues, that Ray’s self confidence had been drastically undermined by his divorce, but he’d never realized the situation was this severe.

Fraser thought for a moment, before admitting, “It means that Ray Vecchio had some...impressions of me that weren’t necessarily valid. When I was first posted here permanently, I...terribly missed doing active police work. I’m afraid I made a point of...showing off my tracking and deductive abilities with Ray, so that he would include me in his cases. I’m afraid he...” Fraser fell silent, not knowing how to voice this next part.

To his astonishment, Ray seemed to pull the thoughts straight out of his mind, as his instinct-driven partner so often did. “Vecchio bought into the Superman act, didn’t he?”

Fraser lowered his head, ashamed. “To a certain extent, yes. And, I’m afraid I...”

“Played up to it,” Ray finished, no doubt in his tone at all.

“Yes.” Fraser raised his head and met those eyes. Braced for a negative reaction, the amused glint to Ray’s gaze totally threw him.

“He let you get away with this super-Mountie crap. That’s why we have all these stupid arguments. You got your own way most of the time with him.”

“Ray would always protest, but.…”

“He’d let you talk him into it,” Ray completed.

“Eventually, yes,” Fraser agreed. “You don’t let me run rough-shod over you to the same extent Ray did and when I’m wrong, you make me admit it.”

“That’s the ‘friction’ you were talkin’ about?”

Fraser nodded.

“So I do get on your nerves more than he did,” Ray determined, but he didn’t sound particularly upset about it now.

“I suppose. You no longer find that thought...disturbing?”

Ray was quiet at the other end of the couch for a moment, then he tentatively explained, “I guess I always kinda thought that you resented that I wasn’t him, that I couldn’t meet your standards the same way he could, but...you’re not sayin’ that at all. Are you?”

Fraser gave a quick, negative shake of his head.

Ray continued, “We just fight more because I won’t let you call all the shots and recklessly endanger our lives all the time.”

The words should have stung, but the fondness in Ray’s tone made them almost a balm to Fraser’s worried mind. “Ray Vecchio didn’t allow me to call all the shots, Ray – ”

“He ever get you mad enough to go all sarcastic and call him Mr. Instinct?”

Not understanding why Ray seemed pleased by that thought, Fraser gave a negative shake of his head. “No, but I irritated him all the same.”

“You can’t help that. It’s just the way you are.”

“The way I am?” Fraser repeated. Another night, he might have let the comment pass uncontested, but tonight he was feeling too...isolated not to investigate what it was that set him apart from everyone, including his closest friend.

Ray seemed to pick up on his change in mood, for Ray’s attitude became less certain as he shifted sideways on the couch to face him and began, “You always give whatever anybody needs, with no thought of yourself.”

“Is that a bad thing, Ray?” Fraser asked into the quiet, too bewildered and hurt to play his usual stonewalling game.

“No, not really, but...”

“But?” Fraser prodded, bracing himself. This was where such personal conversations usually went into how demanding he was, how much he asked of his friends and how little he gave back. Ray Vecchio and he used to have this very same discussion at least once a month. Vecchio had been the only friend who’d ever stuck it out with him, and even his first partner had reached his limits eventually and bailed out by taking that prolonged undercover assignment...or so it seemed to one beaten up Mountie, whose aches were making him inclined to feel sorry for himself. 

The fact that Ray allowed him to get away with far less than Ray Vecchio ever did did not bode well for where this conversation was going. Ray wasn’t going to sugar coat anything for him. For the first time in his life, Fraser wasn’t sure that he wanted to hear the unadorned truth.

“You do everything for everybody, and you never let them give back.”

“What?” Fraser raised his head and looked over at his partner. That was absolutely not what he was expecting to hear. He’d thought Ray would be expanding upon his arrogance in needing to dominate their partnership by ‘calling the shots’ all the time. This sounded nowhere near as...obnoxious.

“You don’t ever let anyone even the score.”

“It’s not a game, Ray. There are no scores involved.” Fraser protested.

“No? Then why won’t you ever let anyone help you when you need it?”

“Ray, I ask for your assistance all the time. I am constantly dropping by the station to – ”

“Ask me to help you help some stranger. That ain’t what I’m talking about. I’m talking about you, Benton Fraser, refusing to allow anybody to ever help you when you’re hurting. I wanna know why you do that.”

Fraser swallowed hard under that piercing stare. The Christmas tree lights should have softened Ray’s visage, but they only seemed to highlight Ray’s determination. “I-I suppose I don’t want to be a bother to anyone.”

“You remember when Cahill set me up and I came running to you for help?”

He nodded. At times he could still hear that scream of ‘Fraz-z-z-er’ echoing through his mind, that cry of utter despair Ray had let out when he’d collapsed in the consulate hallway after his flight from the crime scene.

“Was it a bother to you when you had to fix up my cuts?” Ray sounded legitimately concerned.

“Of course, it wasn’t,” he swiftly replied, recalling clearly how Ray had just lain sprawled in that chair like a child letting its mother fix a hurt. Ray had complained all the while about how bad his healing concoction smelt, but he’d still allowed him to put the stuff on him. The trust this self-sufficient, suspicious man had extended towards him during that entire affair had been heartening.

“So how is this different? How come when the tables are turned, I don’t get to help you?” Ray demanded.

He opened his mouth to explain, and then closed it again. Ray was right. There was no difference.

“You never let anybody give back to you, Fraser,” Ray continued in a softer tone. “You give and give, let everyone lean on you, but when something bad happens to you and we all want to help out, you go off alone and lick your wounds. No one sees you till you can play the perfect Mountie again.”

Fraser swallowed hard. “You see me now, Ray. I am...hardly in peak condition.”

“Yeah, but...you’re not letting me do anything to help you. That night when I was going after Cahill and Kilrea, you talked about having to trust your partner. It’s like that trust only works one way, like I’m supposedta trust you to take care of me, but you don’t trust me to do the same for you.”

Everything in him wanted to protest the accusation, but honesty wouldn’t allow him to contest the truth. Ray was right. He did do those things. Once again, he seemed to hear Ray telling him he was selfish, his father stating how he was arrogant. Fraser realized that he was guilty as charged. Acknowledging that truth made him feel as bad inside as he did out.

“I’m sorry, Ray,” he said at last, too ashamed to even look his partner in the eye. “You’re right.”

“I don’t care about bein’ right,” Ray protested. “I care about helpin’ you. Okay?”

He dared his friend’s gaze, found those perceptive eyes filled with compassion as they watched him. “Okay. What-what do you want me to do?”

There was no victory in Ray’s attitude, only relief and maybe some shock, like Ray had expected his arguments to go unheard. “I want youta take a hot bath and soak, then let me rub some liniment into those muscles.”

“All right,” he instantly agreed, not pointing out that liniment would only sting his abrasions. At this point, he would have let Ray rub salt into his open wounds if that’s what it would take to make Ray feel appreciated. He was not destroying another partnership with his pig-headedness. His father was right. There came a time when you just had to swallow the pride.

“Great. Let me get you some more eggnog and some Advil. I’ll start the bath running.”

Fighting back the urge to protest, Fraser gave a miserable nod. Ray was up in a moment and hurrying towards the bathroom.

A satisfied “rrrrowwwwl” from beside the coffee table brought Fraser’s gaze to his wolf. “It is the height of impropriety to say ‘I told you so’.”

Dief gave him one of those looks that said more than a dictionary-worth of words and made another argumentative sound.

“Not everyone likes to be babied,” another dissenting wolf noise had Fraser back-paddling with, “Well, no. Strictly speaking, you are correct. I have never...I mean...my experience in these matters is...limited to non-existent. Nevertheless...”

“Dief’s right.”

He jumped at the low voice beside him. He hadn’t heard or seen Ray return to the room. He was more out of it than he’d thought.

“About?” he questioned, feeling a little spacey. This entire night was taking on the surreal quality of one of his dreams. Usually, Ray laughed in amusement at his exchanges with his deaf wolf, but Ray’s expression was so serious that it made him think that Ray had overheard and understood every lupine argument.

“You shouldn’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

Before he could even frame a reply, Ray was holding out a mug of eggnog and a couple of little brownish pills.

“Here’s your Advil.”

Feeling those eyes heavy upon him, Fraser accepted the medicine without protest and drank it down. 

“Good. Come on, I’ve got your bath running. I found some hangers for your uniform, and a robe and...”

More than a little overwhelmed, Fraser trailed his partner to the steamy bathroom. The sink and commode were shiny new white porcelain, but the claw foot tub that dominated the tiny room was so old that the porcelain had rubbed off years ago, leaving a sandy white grain behind. To Fraser’s utter shock, his partner, who was usually less than fastidious in his housekeeping, kept the tub sparkling white.

Hot water was presently gushing into the tub, frothing like a whirlpool. Fraser despised the weak part of himself that eagerly anticipated the feel of that hot liquid on his aching body.

“I, ah, know you’re too banged up to want any Epsom salt in there,” Ray said, holding out a bottle of green liquid, “but I’ve got this bath stuff Stella left behind. It smells pretty good and it doesn’t sting cuts.”

“Ray,” Fraser gently pointed out, “Stella never lived in this apartment.”

Ray turned bright red, swallowed once, gave the little jerk of his head that usually indicated he was braced for a fight and said, “Yeah, well, she used to use it and I like it, so I bought a bottle of it. You got a problem with that?”

He quickly shook his head. “No, Ray, that’s a perfectly good reason to purchase a product.”

“So doya wanna try it?”

Touched by how hard his partner was trying to take care of him, when he really didn’t need any care-taking at all, Fraser gave another nod, “That would be nice. Thank you kindly, Ray.”

Ray opened the bottle and poured a cap-load of liquid into the churning water. The heady scent of crushed pine needles immediately filled the small room. The forest smell was comforting. It brought to mind a thousand joyful memories of roaming the woods with Quinn or Eric, even a few rarer ones of spending time with his dad. As always followed on the heels of such vivid sensory memory, Fraser was hit with a burst of homesickness that struck as hard as that two by four Warfield’s men had wielded.

“You like?” Ray checked, looking prepared to empty the bath and start again if Fraser found the potion displeasing.

“It’s very nice, Ray,” Fraser approved.

“Here’s some hangers. Just leave the uniform hanging on the outside of the door and I’ll put it in the bedroom closet. I left a robe there on the back of the door.”

“It’s a very fine robe,” he commented, eyeing the spruce, blue and white pattern.

“It’s pretty lame, I know. Mum sent it to me for my birthday last year, but I never wear it.”

“Why not, Ray? It’s quite a handsome garment.”

Ray shrugged, “It just doesn’t suit my style. There’s a new toothbrush and toothpaste in the medicine cabinet. Everything else is pretty much out in the open. Use whatever you need. You need any help, give a holler.”

Ray’s nervous recitation told Fraser how rarely his partner had houseguests. Touched by the effort Ray was making on his behalf, he gave a small smile that still managed to rip at his banged up lip. “Thank you, Ray. I’m sure I’ll be just fine.”

“Great. I’m gonna go look for that liniment.”

“Ah, Ray?”

“Yeah?”

He paused, debating the wisdom of being honest here, but he knew Ray would be upset if his attempts at nurturing actually caused pain. “I’ve got some open abrasions. Liniment might not be the best – ”

Ray gave a sympathetic wince. “Scratch the liniment. I’ll find something that doesn’t sting. Go soak.”

“Yes, Ray,” Fraser agreed almost demurely. Bemused, he watched the blond whirlwind of energy that was his partner wisk out of the room. Though tiny, the bathroom seemed strangely empty once Ray was gone.

Fraser stood staring at the swirling bath for a few moments, and then began to disrobe. His movements were, by necessity, cautious. Everything hurt. Merely removing his tunic from his shoulders was a harrowing ordeal. When it came to raising his arms to actually pull off his long sleeved, white undershirt, the room seemed to spin around him.

He caught the wall and held himself up until the vertigo passed. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to pass out, he eased himself down onto the commode seat and lifted his foot to undo the bootlaces. An eternity later, he was completely undressed. 

No matter how badly he’d been injured, a lifetime of discipline still bred true. Fraser conscientiously hung his uniform outside the bathroom as Ray had requested before he saw to his own needs. Only when his tunic and jodhpurs were safely hung outside the steamy room did Fraser step into the hot tub. 

The water came almost up to his knees. It sloshed around his calves like a piping hot sea or the pool of a hot spring.

Of all the things he'd lost from his West Racine apartment, that big old communal bathtub was the physical thing he missed the most. His former neighbors, of course, could never be replaced, but Fraser still kept ties with them all. But that beautiful old tub was gone forever, lost in the fire. The shower stall at the consulate was adequate as far as cleanliness went, but when it came to easing aches and pains, nothing took the place of a hot bath. 

Ray’s tub could have been a twin to the one at Racine, Fraser thought as he relaxed against the warm porcelain and let the scented water swoosh up his bruised chest. His bad leg felt like it had been given a second lease on life as the heat soaked through it. Conceding that Ray was right, that a long soak would do him a world of good, Fraser toed off the cold water faucet and let the burning hot water surround him. 

Closing his eyes, Fraser took a deep, pine-scented breath and eased further down in the bath. Just like the one at Racine, the back of the tub caught his neck in just the right spot and held his head above the water. Absorbed in the sybaritic delight of all that liquid warmth embracing his bruises, Fraser relaxed his body, making a conscious effort to do the same with his troubled mind.

******************

After safely stowing Fraser’s uniform on the hook outside his bedroom closet door, Ray retreated to the living room to listen to Christmas music and watch the tree. The entire room glowed. The turtle’s tank, every CD jewel case, glossy book cover and polished wood surface was reflecting back the colored Christmas lights. It was sort of like being inside a cathedral when the sun was shining through a stained glass window. There was color everywhere Ray looked.

He sprawled onto the sofa, listening to Loreena McKennitt’s moody SNOW. Stella had always hated that album, but Ray found it oddly beautiful, if more than a little eerie. 

It was good to just lie here and relax. Diefenbaker padded over and rested his chin on his knee. Ray absently scratched at the wolf’s ears while the winter music played on. 

He had feared that this first holiday without Stella would be the worst Christmas ever. For a while this week, it had been shaping up to be a real downer, but now...having Fraser and Dief come home with him had changed everything around. It felt weird not to be depressed, to just lie here on his couch and enjoy a piece of music he liked in front of the tree without worrying about upsetting someone. For so many years with Stella, Christmas had been like walking on eggs, never knowing what move or seasonal event was going to set off her displeasure. He knew it wasn't her fault that her mom had died right before Christmas, but it still made it hard to live with her around the holidays. 

He was glad that he’d brought Fraser home with him and not just for his own sake, though he was more than grateful for the company. Fraser needed to be with people more. Although outwardly one of the most amiable guys Ray had ever met, his partner was too closed off from his fellow man. Fraser might be the most capable individual Ray knew with his library-worth of useless trivia, faultless manners, unshakable confidence, and cool competency, but beneath it, the guy was suffering. The more Ray watched Benton Fraser in action, the more he realized that Fraser didn’t have a clue about personal interaction. If it weren’t written up in some out-dated etiquette book or psychology text, Fraser didn’t know how to cope. 

Take their whole argument about Fraser not accepting help. Since the day he’d met this red-suited stranger he was supposed to take on as partner as part of the Vecchio cover, Ray had been interpreting Fraser’s refusal to accept personal assistance as a sign of the competent Canadian’s feelings of superiority. Fraser always seemed...a cut above the rest of the world, and very aware of that fact. Haughty, remote, self-righteous, stuck-up...whenever Fraser got into his nit-picking mode, those were the adjectives that ran through Kowalski’s mind. During the first months of their association, there were times Ray had nearly hated the Canadian for that persnickety streak. But now...Ray was beginning to not just look, but actually see Fraser, not for the perfect Mountie Fraser aspired to be, but for the man he actually was beneath the uniform. 

The one thing that had become increasingly clear during these last few months was the fact that Benton Fraser was not the product of some loving, perfect environment as Ray had originally assumed. Contrary to his first impressions, Fraser was not a guy who lucked into things. From everything Ray had gleaned about his new partner’s past, Fraser hadn’t had it easy, ever. Fraser’s mostly absent father had been a living legend, whom Fraser had worshipped, but never truly known. His mother had died when he was little more than a baby and he’d been left with a pair of old folks who filled his head with out-dated codes of morals and exacting behavior that set Fraser forever apart from his peers. It wasn’t so much that Fraser thought himself above everyone else, Ray had realized; it was just that his partner had never learned to fit in. 

But Fraser was doing his best to learn. That was what Fraser was doing every day with him and what Fraser had probably done with Vecchio before him. Fraser wasn’t a natural at this interacting stuff. It obviously came hard to the self-sufficient man. Ray could appreciate that. He was a loner himself, but he knew when to let it go, when to give in and let someone he trusted help. Fraser didn’t know when or how to do that. Ray had been trying to be more patient with his new partner, but it was hard when the door seemed to keep slamming in his face at every turn. 

Still, his patience appeared to be paying off. Last spring, no matter what Ray had said, Fraser would never have allowed him to so much as force him to take a rest when needed, let alone a bath and aspirin. Tonight’s capitulation was nothing short of miraculous.

It was almost scary in a way, though. Ray knew how much Fraser needed to maintain his image. For Fraser to give in as he had and accept Ray’s help, his partner had to be hurting really bad, both physically and emotionally. Ray honestly didn’t know if he was up to the challenge. Ever since Stella had walked, he hadn’t been much good to anyone, even himself. The last thing he wanted was to let Fraser down.

And yet...Fraser knew what an emotional mess he was and had still put his faith in him. That had to count for something

As the CD changed, Ray realized how much time had passed. A little worried, he softly trod to the hallway outside the bathroom. No sound at all emerged from behind the closed bathroom door. No splashing, no water running, no tooth brushing or toilet flushing, nothing but utter silence. Really concerned now, he eased open the bathroom door and shook his head at the sight that was presented to him. 

Fraser was sound asleep in the tub, his head tilted back over the rim, his body stretched out in the still steaming water.

As he stepped into the humid little room, his gaze roamed over the submerged form. Fraser was almost perfectly proportioned. His solid, muscular body spoke of his competence and physical strength, while the angelic innocence of his sleeping features seemed to betoken Fraser’s character. 

Ray knew that the last was misleading. Though few who knew the Canadian would ever suspect it, Fraser was no angel. Ray was one of the few who were aware of that fact, and he cherished the man all the more because of it.

His gaze scoured Fraser’s length through the foot or so of hot water blurring him. Fraser hadn’t exaggerated before. The men who’d worked him over had been professionals. Fraser's arms and legs were mottled with vivid purple and black bruises, as were his abdomen and torso. Ray winced when he saw the lurid purple and red discoloring over his partner’s left hipbone. Obviously, someone had tried to kick Fraser in the family jewels and Fraser had taken the blow on his hip. He had to be hurting like hell with every movement, Ray realized.

“Hey, Benton-buddy,” Kowalski called softly, not wanting to startle the other man too badly.

Fraser’s long eyelashes fluttered, parting with visible reluctance. Fraser sat up, staring around in obvious confusion. 

“I appear to have fallen asleep,” Fraser commented in a thick voice.

“Yeah,” Ray gruffly responded, still too affected by his partner’s collection of injuries to take anything in stride. “You wanta get out of there now?”

Fraser gave a weary nod, started to move, and immediately froze up as he was, no doubt, deluged by pain.

“Careful, there,” Ray counseled, reaching out to grip Fraser’s elbows and help him up. He ignored Fraser’s automatic protest of “Ray, you don’t have to. I’m perfectly fine,” and bundled his wet friend into one of the long blue bath towels. Then he took another towel and knelt at his partner’s feet to carefully blot the excess water from Fraser’s hairy legs, to prevent Fraser from having to bend to do so himself.

“This the bad leg?” Ray questioned as he dried off the left one, the knee of which was somewhat swollen.

“Yes,” Fraser replied, sounding like it was taking all his control to sound normal in this embarrassing situation. By the time Ray had dried both legs, Fraser had taken care of his torso himself.

“Okay, let’s get you into this and then we’ll work on relaxing those muscles,” he said, fetching the robe and holding it out to Fraser to enter.

“Ray, the bath was sufficient. You don’t have to-”

“We already had this discussion. I won,” he reminded, grinning to take the sting off his words. “Come on. We both know that a massage and some sleep will do you a world of good.”

His hair still a wet slick across his skull, which gave his scabbing face a severe air, Fraser nodded. 

His partner’s uneasiness an almost palpable presence, Ray did his best not to make this any harder on the proud, self-sufficient man. Grabbing the bottle of body oil from its long, untouched resting place in the medicine cabinet, Ray silently led his friend into the bedroom.

He switched on the upright lamp beside the door. The light reflected over the hodgepodge of his personal effects, the books, photos and knickknacks that were the material mementos of a lifetime of experience. Ray could see Fraser’s eyes taking it all in as he guided the reluctant Mountie over to the neatly made double bed. Fraser would have walked to a firing squad with more alacrity.

“Here, let me help you get that off,” Ray offered, reaching for the robe again.

“You want me to take it off?” Fraser asked, his modesty showing.

“It’s fleece, Fraser. I can’t really massage you through it; it’s too thick. Okay?” Ray tried to be reasonable, though he was losing patience. They were both grown men, for God’s sake. Neither of them were blushing virgins. And even if they were, it wasn’t like this was a date or something. 

It was a pathetic testament to the state of his love life that the first person he’d be escorting to his bed since he’d moved in here would be his male partner.

“All right,” Fraser relented, standing still so that he could ease the bright patterned robe off his shoulders.

Without further ado, Fraser turned towards the bed.

His gaze unconsciously raked over his partner’s naked back as Fraser moved the few feet to the mattress. Ray’s eyes stopped on the pert curves of those dimpled buttocks. He swallowed hard, not understanding his own sudden nervousness.

Since he’d been hoping for Stella’s company, the sheets were crisp and clean. More than clean, they were pristine. Ray had been so tired last night that he’d fallen asleep on the couch in front of the boob tube and spent the whole night there.

Fraser climbed into the bed and turned over onto his stomach. 

Seeing the wince Fraser gave as he looked over his shoulder while awkwardly reaching for the sheet end, Ray offered, “I’ll do it.”

His hand was almost shaking as he reached to pull the crisp blue and white patterned linen up over Fraser’s lower body. For some unexplained reason, Ray felt better when his partner’s modesty had been restored.

Recalling what he was here for, Ray opened the bottle he held in his left hand. A sweet, vaguely floral scent flooded the area.

“Rose adder,” Fraser’s voice was muffled by the pillow his face was resting against.

“Huh?”

“Rose adder and chamomile, very strong healing herbs,” Fraser explained.

“Oh, good.” Having no further excuse to delay, Ray poured some of the thick yellow oil onto his right palm. Carefully placing the open bottle beside his family’s picture on the junk crowded nightstand, Ray turned to his partner.

He could almost feel Fraser’s tension. Ray rubbed the oil between his palms, warming it and coating his hands while Fraser lay there stiff as a board. 

When at last the oil and his hands were ready, Ray reached for those broad shoulders, but he was almost afraid to touch. There was an angry black and blue running across the middle of Fraser’s upper back, starting right at the base of the neck and going across and down for about four inches in all directions. Whatever it was that had hit his partner there, Fraser was lucky it hadn’t snapped his spine or neck. 

When his fingers finally made contact with that warm, soft-skinned body, Ray found his partner’s muscles tensed harder than a rock. From the physical dread he could sense in the other man’s body, it was clear to Kowalski that Fraser was bracing himself for an excruciating experience, like he expected Ray’s hands to be rough and hurt him. Yet Fraser was still offering himself up to him. Because he had asked it of him, Ray realized.

“Relax, Frase. I know what I’m doing here. I won’t hurtchya. I promise.” With that, Ray let his fingers feel out the thick muscles. He carefully avoided the areas of actual bruising as he gauged how much pressure his brutalized partner could take. Normally, a man with Fraser’s dense muscular structure could have handled an intense session, but the palpable fear of being hurt that Ray found in those guarded muscles made him move carefully.

Softer than he’d ever massaged even Stella, Ray began to work his fingers in circular patterns on Fraser’s neck. He rubbed the oil into his partner’s baby soft skin with feather-light, round motions, increasing the pressure only as he seduced the fear out of the muscles.

Unsurprisingly, the area over Fraser’s carotid artery was a mass of tiny bumps of tension. One by one, Ray courted and soothed them, moving slowly down the neck to Fraser's shoulders. The bruise there was so large that it was difficult to work around, but Ray went to great pains to put no pressure on already damaged tissue. When he managed to free a large knot of tension from the shoulder area under where the black and blue mark ended, Fraser released a startled sigh.

“Raay...” Fraser grunted as Kowalski found another ball of trouble, “you are...quite good at this.”

“Told ya,” Ray grinned, before moving to Fraser’s biceps to work down each arm in turn. Apparently, Fraser hadn’t been expecting that, for he seemed almost stunned as Ray freed his upper limbs of aches.

Once he was certain the arms were okay, he moved back to Fraser’s shoulders, then began to make his way down the broad, sturdy back. While he cautiously worked his thumbs down the vertebrae one by one, leaving a slick trail of scented oil in his wake, Ray was almost overcome by the fact that Fraser was actually allowing him to do this. He couldn’t believe that this proud and independent man would lie so helpless and defenseless beneath his hands. 

On some levels, he felt almost as though he’d tamed a wild forest creature here. Fraser’s normal skittishness when it came to touch was almost like a feral wolf or mountain lion’s. His partner kept himself so apart from actual physical human contact, remained so aloof, that one could almost believe that he didn’t have the needs that every other man did. To see Fraser open up like a flower like this was...heart-breaking. For, with every touch he gave to this reserved man, it became clear that this was something Fraser had never had before. 

A man as good as his partner should not go thirty-eight years of his life with no one to take care of him like this, Ray thought, saddened. For all that his own life had fallen apart over the past two years, prior to that he’d had someone to help him through the bad times.

Though, now that Ray thought about his own life with the person he’d thought would always be there beside him, it did seem that he took care of Stella this way far more often than she ever had him. Still, contact was contact, regardless of which side of the fence you were on. To not have ever had it at all was unthinkable.

Way too soon, Ray reached the obstruction he’d been dreading - the line of sheet covering Fraser’s lower body. It would be just like his proper partner to refuse to allow Ray to continue the massage any further.

He waited at that linen roadblock for Fraser to say ‘thank you, Ray, that’s quite good enough’ or something along those lines, but Fraser simply lay there stretched out. 

Deciding to live dangerously, Ray reached out a hand to tentatively peel down the sheet, ready to replace it at the first hint of protest.

His eyes roamed over the area revealed, pale flesh pinked from the bath, lightly downed with dark body hair from the thighs down, nearly spotless above, save for a small patch in the small of the back, right above the buttocks crease. Fraser had truly beautiful skin, like one of those Ivory Soap babies in the commercials when he was a kid. Except, of course, for the smattering of Technicolor bruises irregularly dotting Fraser’s legs and even his left buttock. Aside from those temporary discolorations, Fraser was perfect here, all artful muscle and smooth skin.

His mouth going strangely dry, Ray gulped, re-oiled his hands, then tentatively reached for his partner’s right thigh. He took his time, working slowly down the right leg, massaging the tense hamstring and then the calf muscle until they were loose as jello. 

Then he switched over to Fraser’s left ankle and started his way up the injured leg. He was far more cautious here, too aware of the swollen knee and livid bruises to apply any real strength, for fear of hurting. Nonetheless, his ministrations appeared to be effective. Though quiet and subdued as ever, Fraser kept emitting these tiny sighs and more rarely, a stifled moan. All tension seemed to have fled Fraser’s body. As Ray carefully advanced up that powerful, bruised thigh. Fraser was like putty under his hands, soft and malleable.

All too soon, Ray reached the top of the second thigh, his work stopping as his greasy knuckles bumped into the soft, hot curve of the buttock. Were this Stella, he would have just kept right on kneading his way up, but...

He couldn’t see Fraser wanting him to touch his butt. That just seemed...intrusive somehow. He didn’t want the handsome Mountie to think his pathetic partner was copping a quick feel.

Ray gave a sudden gasp, hit by an unexpected flush of heat at the very thought of feeling up his partner there. Shaking for no understandable reason, Ray waffled uncertainly. He probably would have sat there frozen forever if Fraser hadn’t looked up over his shoulder at him out of pleasure-dazed eyes.

Ray gulped and searched for his voice. The sounds that emerged were gruff and hoarse, but they were understandable. “You-you gettin’ bored with this?”

There, leave it up to Fraser to decide. His prim and proper partner would know what to do.

Ray was almost holding his breath, wondering if Fraser was going to notice how weird his voice sounded or see how nervous he suddenly felt. 

But those abstracted blue eyes seemed too focused on internal sensation to take anything in. Appearing as uncertain as he himself felt, Fraser haltingly answered in a tone that sounded like it was working around its own bolt of cotton in the throat, “No, Ray, it’s quite... pleasurable...unless, of course, you wish to stop...”

For once Fraser’s expression was an open book, no polite fronts or smoke screens. Ray could clearly read his partner’s confusion, Fraser’s reluctance to impose, but, more than either, Fraser’s longing to continue. There was a hunger there, a need for the solace of human touch that was downright heartbreaking.

Not that Ray could blame the guy. It wasn’t like Fraser had had that much comfort in his life. Ray couldn’t think of another person on this planet that Fraser would have let close enough to him to perform this intimate service. Probably not even his first partner, Ray realized with a burst of childish, jealous pride. He’d met Vecchio’s family. That strict, Catholic Italian background could be as isolating as being raised by Victorian grandparents in Eskimo land. Ray took delight in knowing that this was something he could give to Fraser that Vecchio hadn’t.

“I-I’m good to go,” Ray whispered, oiling up his hands again.

He returned them to the relative safety of those slicked up thighs. He kneaded and circled there for a while until his fingers just drifted naturally up to the new territory. 

Fraser tensed at his first, tentative touch, but then immediately relaxed into the rhythm of his fingers. 

Fraser felt good there. The well-shaped globes were muscular, but pliant at the same time, softer than silk. As he worked over the firm mounds, Ray couldn’t help but compare the area to the last butt he’d massaged. Stella hadn’t really had a lot of meat on her. When he’d do this to her, he’d hit bone right away, but Fraser had some flesh there to cushion his fingers. Add in those strong muscles and baby soft skin and you had absolute perfection. Fraser’s butt was a treat to the fingers - which was a really weird thing to be thinking about your partner’s ass, Ray realized.

After a minute of two, Ray was shocked to hear a soft sigh come from up above, not at all the grunting response that a massage usually elicited. But then, he wasn’t really using as much pressure as he usually would. Fraser’s left butt cheek had that livid bruise on it where butt met thigh and Ray was being real careful to work around it, to not man-handle any bruised or sprained muscles elsewhere.

He kneaded Fraser's butt for at least ten minutes, losing himself, as was his habit, in the glide of flesh. Fraser's body seemed to be rising and falling with the motion of his hands, sinking into the rhythm. Finally, the last ball of tension faded from those powerful muscles.

Almost disappointed, Ray said, "I've done about all I can back here. Why don't you turn over and let me work the front of your chest and legs for a while?"

Ray's fingers felt those two simple sentences undo the last twenty minutes hard work. Fraser's entire body turned to lead as he repeated, "Turn over?" like the words were in one of the three languages that he hadn't mastered yet.

"You've got two sides, don'tchya?" Ray smiled.

Fraser continued to lie there like a corpse.

"Come on, Frase. What's the big deal?"

"Thank you, Ray. I . . .think that will do for now. If you'll excuse me, I'll – "

"You'll what? Jeez, get with the program. I'm only half done." Ray laughed, and immediately saw Fraser further tense.

"Please, Ray – "

"Oh, for – enough already. Just turn over. You said you'd let me help you."

"I'm sorry, Ray. I –"

"Fraser!" he snapped, losing all patience.

A stony silence followed. Finally, Fraser gave another of those sighs he'd die before admitting to and said, "As you wish," in the tightest tone Ray could remember hearing from him, which confused the hell out of him, because after the massage he'd just given, there shouldn't have been anything tight at all on his friend.

But as Fraser rolled as quickly over as he could, grabbing the corner of the sheet in the process to instantly cover himself, Ray had his explanation as he caught a glimpse of the huge red cock that was rising to attention.

That had definitely not been in the game plan. No wonder Fraser was freaking.

When he raised his gaze from the erection concealed by his blue and white sheets, Ray found Fraser's battered face to be as bright as the flesh he was hiding. Fraser's humiliation was a palpable presence. For once the Mountie didn't seem to know what to say.

Ray could sympathize.

He could hardly blame Fraser. His friend had fought against this tooth and nail. He'd forced Fraser into it, and his touch-starved partner had had an unanticipated reaction to the stimulation. Whose fault was that? Ray knew at the time that he shouldn't've been touching Fraser's ass like that.

The mortified Mountie finally seemed to find his tongue. "I can't imagine what you must think of me."

Ray knew that how he reacted now was going to either make or break their partnership. He tried to think of what the right thing was to do in this situation, and gave it up as a lost cause. Fraser knew what was right; he only knew what felt right, which weren't always the same thing. But it was all he ever had to go on. So, he did what he always did when his back was to the wall and went with his instincts. "Shut up, Fraser, and lie back."

"What?"

"You think I've never seen one before?" he asked as lightly as he could.

"I – " Fraser's eyes squeezed shut and he gulped.

Reading how close his beaten up friend was to losing what little control he had left, Ray said in his mildest, most calming voice, "It's all right. Everything's gonna be okay. It's no big deal. It's been a while for you, huh?"

Fraser re-opened his eyes and looked at him. The surprise in his face was exceeded only by his bewilderment. "Over two years."

Honest, Fraser was always so painfully honest.

"Me, too." Ray blushed as Fraser's arctic blue gaze moved to check out his basket. "No, I'm . . . I wasn't on the receiving end, but I do understand. We're guys. It's like a knee jerk reaction, right?"

The deep inhalation Fraser took seemed to echo through the room.

"I suppose," Fraser agreed in a more normal tone. He still looked ready to bolt buck naked for the door.

"So, what do you want to do about it?" Ray asked in that same mild tone.

"Do?" Fraser all but squawked.

"Yeah. You want we should make like I never saw and I'll go into the living room so's you can take care of it on your own. Or do you want me to lend a hand?" His own stomach clenched at that suggestion. He couldn't imagine what it must have done to his spit and polish, uptight partner. But, when you started something like this, even unintentionally, you had a certain responsibility to see things through. And . . . he really wanted to lend a hand.

"What are you suggesting?" Fraser asked in that schoolteacher tone that normally got on his nerves something fierce.

But tonight, he had nothing but respect for it. Even when pushed over the edge, Fraser would cling to his principles.

Ray found a smile. "I ain't Vecchio, and you ain't that innocent. So cut the smoke screen. You want a hand or no?"

The bruised face turned to stone. "I don't need your charity or pity."

"You get one warning. Say something stupid like that again and I'm gonna pop you in the head."

"What else could it be but pity? You're not . . . I mean, you don't – "

Fraser hadn't said no. He hadn't said 'Ray Kowalski, take your skinny ass out of here and don't ever lay a hand on me again'. Hearing only the lack of rejection, Ray softly said, "You're blithering."

Holding that gaze, he reached a nearly steady hand for the blue and white sheet Fraser had clutched at his bruise mottled belly.

Fraser held tight to that last hold on propriety for a moment and stared at him. Then he slowly released the sheet and allowed Ray to peel it back from him in a gesture that felt oddly significant.

Ray saw the goosebumps that popped up on the unmarred sections of Fraser's skin as his gaze moved down, saw that uncircumcised cock twitch and grow even bigger.

"Lay down," Ray instructed.

To his shock, Fraser did. Of course, the Mountie's body looked stiffer than a tv dinner fresh out of the freezer, but Fraser did as asked. 

Ray could see how fast his partner was breathing. He could almost feel the fear in the other man's body as Fraser stared up at him.

Somehow, that made it all easier. It wasn't right that Fraser should be so afraid of a simple touch. Granted, playing doctor with your partner probably wasn't the brightest idea in the universe, but it shouldn't engender this much angst. 

"We're gonna be all right, no matter what. It's just like, well, like when you bring me coffee after I've been kicked in the head or something. It's just one friend making his buddy feel better. There's nothing wrong with that, is there? If we both like it and it feels good, what's the harm in it, right?" Ray asked as reasonably as Fraser always was when he was suggesting one of his hare brained schemes. Even his stupid, reckless brain could figure out what was wrong with this, how dangerous it was to their partnership and friendship, not to mention their battered hearts. They were both walking victims, just waiting for the final shot that would take them down for good. Ray hoped to God this wasn't it.

Just like when Fraser used that rational tone to suggest something totally insane, it seemed to have a near hypnotic effect. Fraser was quiet for fourteen breaths, and then he asked, "Have you done this before, Ray . . . made a buddy 'feel better'?"

There wasn't any judgment in the questions. Fraser simply sounded curious and nervous as hell. It sure beat that shamed tone he'd had before.

"Not since I was a kid. I took that 'forsakin' all others' vow seriously. How 'bout you? Been here, done it, got the tee shirt or, in your case, mukluks?" Ray managed a real smile.

It seemed to relax Fraser as much as him. "Not as such, no."

"If not as such, then what?"

The color was back in Fraser's cheeks. "I was too . . .afraid when I was young. But sometimes, when I was grown – "

"You wanted to do more than just dance with the men?" Ray suggested when Fraser seemed to run out of words.

Fraser nodded, his gaze having very much that deer-in-the-headlights quality to it.

Ray didn't have to ask if Fraser had done anything about that desire. That was what that 'not as such' Fraser code translated to.

"Well, we've already established that you're not up to dancing with me. You up to this? Can I touch you, Benton Fraser?"

He had to ask. It wasn't something he was just going to do, even if asking a guy if he wanted to be touched when he was turned on was about as valid as asking a six year old if he thought candy before dinner was a good idea.

He received yet another nod. Fraser cleared his throat and choked out, "If it's agreeable to you."

Translation – yes. Fraser could never ask for what he wanted or needed.

So the proverbial ball was back in his court. It had been more than twenty years since he'd touched another guy with intent. 

Ray took a deep breath that filled his lungs with the scent of the massage oil. He watched as his hand reached almost of its own accord for Fraser's smooth chest. 

Fraser gasped as his fingers landed, his body jerking as if an electric current had shot through him.

Ray stroked across the satin smooth expanse, spreading a trail of oil as he made for the nearest nipple. Another gaspy sound filled the room as Ray took the little pink nub between his index finger and thumb and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Fraser felt damn good beneath his hand. All smooth and hot. Ray played with the bud of flesh for a few minutes. Then, he used his left hand to remove the Stetson and lay it reverently over the stuff on his nightstand before lowering his head to sample the nipple's taste.

Not surprisingly, it tasted of the oil on his hands, but once he'd laved off that sweet, cloying coating, he got his first blast of Fraser flavor. 

It wasn't fair. The Mountie tasted as good as he looked: all sweet and salty, with a hint of spice…so different from the sometimes astringent taste of Stella's perfume. He knew that he shouldn't be making those kinds of comparisons at a moment like this, but he couldn't help it. He'd never looked at Fraser and thought 'taste test' before. Now that he was sampling him, Ray couldn't understand why the hell not. What was wrong with him? Everyone who met Fraser wanted to get into his pants. 

But Ray hadn't wanted to get into Fraser's pants; he'd wanted to get into his head, to understand what made him tick. But Fraser was like one of those million piece puzzles, where no matter how hard you worked it, there were just too many pieces to try to put together to see the whole picture. No matter how hard he tried, Fraser remained an astigma, no, an enigma to him. As Ray moved his mouth across that broad, bruised chest, tasted the sheen of sweat that broke out on it, and heard Fraser moan, he thought he'd finally gotten there. This was a major part of what made his Mountie who and what Fraser was. This was what got to Fraser where he lived. For the first time since they'd met, Ray had a piece of that Fraser puzzle in his hands that made sense to him.

So, he ran with it. He sucked those nipples until they were pink and Fraser was crying out loud from the sensations.

Only then did he allow his mouth to move down those well defined abs to investigate his partner's belly button. It was dark and shallow. It tasted even better than the nipples.

His own breathing no longer anywhere near normal, Ray let his fingers stroke over the tender, lower belly that still bore the marks of Warfield's thugs' punches and kicks.

Ray kissed each one of the bruises, slowly and carefully, loving Fraser's sighs. Who would've thought that the man of steel could be so all fired responsive?

When he was done, he reached for that purple-red cock down below. 

Fraser hissed in pleasure at his touch, his entire body seeming to rise to meet him. 

Now, this was definitely a new twist to a familiar theme. As Ray took hold of his partner's shaft and felt the slippery foreskin for the first time, he felt like a teenager again exploring virgin territory, which he supposed in a way he was. Not the teenager part, but Fraser was definitely virgin territory when it came to other men. 

Hearing Fraser whimper at whatever feelings his tentative grip inspired and recalling what his friend had said about his lack of prior experience, Ray was struck with an overwhelming sense of sympathy. Those button-down librarians had left the young Fraser too repressed and scared to reach for what he really wanted, as for the adult Fraser . . . what did his Mountie know of pleasure? It was all duty and self-sacrifice to Frase. A bigger masochist you couldn't find. Ray knew that this could quite possibly be the first taste of guilt-free sex his friend had had in his life. 

Fraser had told him about that Metcalfe bitch. It hadn't sounded like there was much joy there, either. His partner had never said so, but Ray had gotten the strong feeling that Metcalfe was the sum total of Fraser's experience. How wrong was that, that someone as fine as Fraser would only have a doomed affair with a psycho ex-con and an accidental encounter with a buddy to their sexual repertoire?

Ray tried to wrap his mind around the concept, even as he wrapped his fist around Fraser's flesh. That foreskin took some getting used to. It was slick and moved readily enough under Ray's palm, but he couldn't help but fear that he was going to hurt Fraser by moving it too fast. Fraser's bruised mouth slipped open as Ray acquainted himself with that thin fold of skin. Apparently Canadian Anatomy 101 was a huge success, if the noises his partner was making were anything to go by.

Finally convinced that sliding it around wasn't going to hurt the foreskin any, Ray started to pump that meaty organ with his right hand while his left trailed over the thick bush of pubic hair at its base, slipping further down to Fraser's warm and heavy testicles.

God, the man was packed. Little wonder the women were trampling each other to get their hands on this.

"Ray . . . ." Fraser looked utterly astounded as they found a rhythm. His eyes were huge and incandescent, his cheeks flushed with excitement. Fraser was breathtakingly beautiful, and, yet, innocent at the same time – not that wide-eyed, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth country bumpkin routine that the Mountie used as a smoke-screen, but the kind of untouched purity that couldn't be faked.

It hit Ray hard.

Loving that blown away look, Ray decided to put some other long neglected talents to use. Hoping he still had the knack, he lowered his head over Fraser's steamy groin, opened his mouth, and guided that thick cock in.

The flavor was surreal. All salt and musk and Fraser. Rich, hot, and heady, it filled his mouth and his nostrils, percolating through his blood quicker than his Mr. Coffee machine.

Fraser hissed in shock, his entire body stilling like one of those old pinball machines going tilt when the action got too heavy to handle. 

Before, the delay would have made him impatient, but Ray appreciated the reprieve. He'd never put his mouth around anything this . . . massive. Benton Fraser won hands down in the development department over the fourteen and fifteen year old school chums he'd done this to. It took Ray a few minutes to simply relearn the knack of breathing. But his body remembered.

Once he thought he could handle it, Ray started to suck.

Fraser's hands grabbed his head, those strong, square fingers clutching his hair in painful holds as the Mountie muttered, "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray . . . ." over and over like some kind of sacred mantra.

Feeling the pulse of Fraser's need against his tongue, and an almost sympathetic throb in his own blood, Ray began to bob and suck, in a long forgotten pattern that made the tango look easy. 

He'd forgotten what this was like. The raw sensuality of going down on another guy's cock, the mind-blowing intimacy of the whole thing.

His own pulse was drumming as wild as Fraser's. He was sweating so hard that his tee shirt was sodden like he'd been dancing in it the entire night. His jeans were adhered to his thighs and constricting his pounding erection like a chastity belt. But, he didn't mind. It felt incredible. He didn't feel dead from the neck down for the first time in . . . well, since long before Stella had physically left him. She'd abandoned him sexually nearly a year before her body drifted out of his bed. He'd all but despaired of finding anyone who could ever give him the same kind of charge that the Stella did, but . . . .

Fraser hadn't touched him at all, but he was tingling like he had the first time Stella had let him put his hand down the front of her jeans to feel that moist, secret place. But Fraser wasn't doling out that kind of favor piecemeal to him in the same way he'd had to work to win the Stella. No, his partner was giving him it all, opening himself to the pleasure and letting Ray do what he would with this gorgeous body.

Curious to see just how far Fraser's forbearance went, Ray slipped his hand down behind the balls he was fondling and let his middle finger slide between Fraser's sweaty butt cheeks. 

He was expecting Fraser to freeze up on him or ask him to get his hand the hell out of there – in polite Canadian parlance, of course. What he did not expect was for Fraser to light up like the Christmas tree in the next room. The last thing he was anticipating when he pressed the ball of his finger against that tight, hot opening was for Fraser to scream and his mouth to be flooded with bitter jism. 

But that's what happened. It was like getting a mouth full of seawater. His ears ringing, Ray swallowed the briny gift down around the cock that was still obstructing his breathing. 

Fraser came and came like he was shooting out a lifetime's worth of come, which, maybe he was.

Ray sucked it all down, greedy for more. He sucked until Fraser was dry and that monster cock in his mouth was but a sliver of its former glory. Only when Fraser's flesh had withered down to normal size did Ray raise his head.

Fraser's eyes were still closed, his lips still parted, his throat bared.

Ray couldn't resist bending back down to deposit a wet kiss against that tempting white neck as he adjusted to the sour after-taste of Fraser in his mouth. After just coming, the simple kiss shouldn't have had much effect on his partner, but Fraser gasped in shock again, his hand coming up to Ray's back.

As that palm started to rub his sodden mauve shirt in unconsciously comforting circles, Ray tentatively rested his cheek against the strong smooth flesh of Fraser's chest. 

He was still uncomfortably hard himself, but Fraser's orgasm had overwhelmed his own need. Here in the sweaty aftermath, Ray was left to wonder what the fuck he'd done here. He'd just gone down on Benton Fraser. 

He had no reference points here. He didn't know where this was gonna go. He'd so blithely assured Fraser before that everything was gonna be all right, but . . . what if the spit and polish Mountie objected to what he'd done? It wasn't like he'd really given Fraser a chance to say no. He'd aroused his injured partner with that massage and then plunged him into this hot sex with no thought to the consequences. Granted, he'd given Frase the opportunity to refuse, but what guy could say no when their balls were doing their thinking for them? For all his grandstanding, Fraser was just as human as the rest of the world. You pushed enough physical buttons and there was no 'no' left in a guy's vocabulary after a certain point, even a vocabulary as gifted as Fraser's.

Fraser was gonna hate him for this for sure. He was gonna be so mad it would make that time they'd fought on the dock look like kids stuff.

"You're shivering, Ray. Come to bed," Fraser said, sounding more asleep than awake.

Ray reluctantly raised his head from the warm chest.

The naked Fraser lifted the blankets they'd discarded earlier and slid to the opposite side of the bed with only a little wincing. Once there, he held the covers up in open invitation.

Feeling himself start to shake, Ray toed off his boots, bit his lower lip, and climbed in. The blankets settled over him, and so did Fraser's right arm.

When Ray turned his head to look at the man on the other side of his bed, Fraser was fast asleep.

They were the same in that. Once he came, he was usually out like a light himself. Ray had to smile. 

But it died fast. He knew he'd only postponed the inevitable. As soon as Fraser's brains returned from their hiatus to his cock, there'd be hell to pay. There was no getting around that.

Ray turned his head to face his partner, memorizing how that battered face looked against his powder blue pillowcase.

Fraser wore so many masks that sometimes Ray didn't know if he'd ever find the real Benton Fraser among all those millions of puzzle pieces. But there was a tranquility in his partner's features that Ray couldn't recall ever seeing before, for all that the beaten man still looked sore as hell, even in his sleep.

Maybe everything was gonna fall apart in the morning, but right now it felt good to by lying here in the dark beneath that strong and heavy arm. He took a deep breath. He could get used to smelling Fraser's scent in his bed and tasting that sour aftertaste in his mouth. He sure could get used to that warm body lying so close to him. There were nights this bed felt colder than the arctic tundra of Fraser's homeland – and just as lonely.

Ray couldn't help but wonder if Fraser might want. . . .

No. Just because he'd seduced his friend in a moment of weakness was no reason to suppose that Fraser would want to tie himself to his bony assed partner indefinitely.

How in the hell could he be thinking that kind of thing anyway? He hadn't even gotten off himself and he was ready for the hearts and flowers routine. They hadn't even kissed! Did he never learn?

Christ, Stella was right. He was pathetic. The neediest excuse for a man the Chicago PD had ever accepted into its ranks. One blow job, and he was falling. 

But who wouldn't fall, Ray thought, staring at that lethally attractive face. Fraser slaughtered them all. He walked around in that perfect body, with his Canadian politeness and knights of the round table chivalry, thanking everyone kindly and melting hardened city hearts with his sincerity and kindness, oblivious to the conquests he made.  
And some time tonight, Ray had unknowingly joined the ranks of those pathetic conquests. 

He couldn't help but wonder when his partner looked at him in the morning, if Fraser would have that same trapped glint in his eye he got every time Frannie cornered him. He didn't think he could live with that.

His mind filled with doubt, his heart with fear, Ray lay there studying that familiar face.

He'd taken advantage of his best friend in a moment of weakness. His injured best friend. How low was that? 

Ray knew he didn't have a chance in hell here. He mightn't be Miss Manners like Frase, but he did know right from wrong. He knew that the existence of a weakness did not give a person the right to exploit it. In retrospect, what he'd done tonight wasn't any different than if he'd slipped his tea-totaler partner a mickie or gotten him drunk to have his dirty way with him. This was wrong no matter what language you spoke. He knew how his Maintain the Right Mountie dealt with wrongs. He'd seen how utterly cold and scornful Fraser could be when it came to moral – what was that phrase he'd heard Fraser use? Moral terrapin? No . . . turpitude. 

He had moral turpitude.

He wasn't even sure what it meant, but he knew he had it. 

Well, one thing was for sure, Fraser would define it in Fraserian detail come morning.

But for now? 

That warm arm was still across him, making him feel safe, making him feel like that closeness was real and all for him - making him feel wanted, and how long was it since he'd felt that?

Too tired to argue with his mind anymore, Ray let his eyes sink shut. He knew that the other side of the bed would be empty when he woke up, but he couldn't stay awake any longer. Mindful of the bruising, he carefully settled his left arm across Fraser's bare chest. Lulled by the beat of that stalwart heart, Ray gave himself over to sleep.

***********************

A ringing woke him. It wasn't the harsh blare of his alarm clock. This sound was more metallic and resounding, but it still wasn't normal, and it was a ringing, which usually meant he was supposed to get up, so . . . .

Ray snapped his eyes open, his body freezing immediately. He wasn't alone in the bed. His nose and right cheek were smushed into a smooth, bare, masculine chest. And there was a heavy arm banding his back. 

What the . . . ?

Then, he remembered what he'd done last night, and with the memories came the fear.

"Ray?"

Fraser was a master of implication. The Mountie's disapproving tone could wither a wrong-doer from a hundred yards. But Ray could hear none of the expected fury in Fraser's voice. His partner sounded nervous and uncertain, but not mad.

Ray lifted his head and stared down at Fraser, who wasn't supposed to still be here. The bed was supposed to be empty and he was supposed to be on his way to losing yet another foundation of his universe. He wasn't supposed to be lying here *cuddling* the Mountie.

His confusion must have shown, but Fraser misinterpreted him. They really didn't even have a language in common, Ray realized as Fraser said, "Church bells," like the meaning would be crystal clear to him.

"Huh?" he asked, desperately trying to bring his brain up to speed. As usual, Fraser was wide-awake first thing and he was still off in lala land trying to remember who he was. But today he couldn't afford the usual morning stupidity. He had to be sharp. Too much was riding on this for him to blow it because of morning stupor.

"It was the church bells ringing at midnight mass that woke you. Merry Christmas, Ray," Fraser said so tentatively that it made Ray's guts clench in reaction. Fraser really looked like he didn't know how to play this. 

Ray could sympathize. 

But 'Merry Christmas, Ray' was a hell of a difference from the righteous outrage he was anticipating. Taking a deep breath, he answered with equal nervousness, "Merry Christmas, Frase."

Somehow, that was wrong. Though very little changed in Fraser's expression, he felt the emotional temperature of the room drop by twenty degrees or so. Only he could screw up a *Merry Christmas*, he miserably reflected.

"Perhaps, in light of our present circumstances, you might want to call me Benton or Ben," Fraser said.

It was only then that Ray recognized the freeze for the fear that it was. The emotion flashed through those grayish blue eyes so fast that Ray barely caught it, but he was good at reading that kind of thing; with his attention span, he had to be.

He was abruptly aware that his jean-covered lower body was pressed uncomfortably close to Fraser's naked groin. Blushing, he tried to get a handle on Fraser's mood, while simultaneously curbing his own urge to panic.

Things weren't out of control – yet. If he could keep it together, maybe everything wouldn't blow up in his face for once.

Ray knew he was kidding himself with that hope, but he was good at self-delusion. It was all that kept him going most days, that pathetic, doomed hope that somehow his life would get better, that he wasn't the total failure that Stella's eyes always made him out to be.

But he didn't know how to handle this. He didn't know if he should pull himself away from Fraser's warmth and give the man the apology he was owed, or if he should try to bluff his way through this emotional landmine.

Finally, he just settled on, "Merry Christmas, Benton."

It helped. Some of the nearly imperceptible tightness eased from that banged-up face.

"About our current circumstances – " Fraser began and fell short, as though all those sixty syllable words had deserted him in his time of need.

"I-I guess I owe you an apology," Ray stammered, wishing that he'd had the sense to keep his hands to himself last night.

"For?" Now it was Fraser who looked confused.

"What happened. I never should've . . . ."

"Did you intentionally arouse me?" Fraser asked in a tone that might have been angry or just plain scared.

Ray shook his head. "No."

"Then it is you who is owed the apology. Your kindness should never have been rewarded with such a sloppy, disgraceful lack of . . . umpf."

Ray covered his partner's mouth hard enough to stop the words, without reopening the split lip. "I liked it. If you liked it and you're not mad at me, we got nothing to apologize for."

Ray lifted his hand.

"Why would I be mad at you?" Fraser asked, seemingly legitimately bewildered.

"You were injured and I took advantage of you –"

"But you already said that you didn't intend to," Fraser said.

"But I still did it. You trusted me and I – I screwed up again. Took advantage of you when you couldn't say no. I suck," he said. Overwhelmed by the magnitude of his latest screw up, he rolled over onto his back and threw his arm across his eyes so that he wouldn't have to see the disillusionment enter Fraser's gaze.

The bed shifted.

He could feel Fraser watching him. That stare was like a hot spotlight on his skin.

His body jumped as his left nipple was fingered through the material of his shirt. He hissed in a breath and lowered the arm from his face. 

Fraser had turned on his side to face him, with his head propped up on his right wrist. Fraser's left hand was still hovering over Ray's chest, his index finger still resting against the prominent bulge of his nipple that was trying to poke its way out of his shirt. 

Like everyone who fell under Fraser's spell, his body was so hungry for that touch. He wanted it so bad it hurt.

He felt naked and raw as he met his partner's eyes. He was sure that Fraser must be playing with him, but . . . Fraser wouldn't do that kind of thing.

Fraser was still observing him like he was a bug in a glass jar. He felt sort of that way, like Fraser could reach out and squash him with his thumb anytime he chose to.

"You don't 'suck', Ray, at least, not in the manner you mean," Fraser qualified.

Great. Was Fraser gonna tell him how bad he was on the job now to completely destroy what little self-worth he had left?

He was many things, most of them bad, but a coward wasn't one of them. Finally, Ray couldn't take it another second and was compelled to ask, as Fraser doubtless knew he would, "Then how do I suck?"

"Like heaven," Fraser answered. 

He was so accustomed to being put down, in his own head, if nowhere else, that at first he couldn't unravel the meaning of his partner's words. But then he realized that Fraser was talking about what he'd done last night, with that forthright Mountie honesty, and his whole world came to a crashing halt. He could feel the heat in his face, knew that he'd just turned beet red, but . . . his prim and proper partner had just complimented his ability to give head. That was so beyond the pale that Ray had no clue how to reply.

"Ray, did you mean what you said before when you said you liked it?" Fraser asked in a tone so tentative that Ray suspected it must have taken all of his partner's considerable courage to get the words out at all.

He couldn't remember how to breathe, but he knew he had to nod yes to that, because at the moment, it was a lot more important that he and Fraser understand each other than it was for him to continue breathing.

"Would you be adverse to continuing on a more even basis?" 

Ray knew that they couldn't be speaking the same language again, because he really thought he'd just heard his prim and proper Mountie proposition him, in polite Canadian parlance, of course.

He knew he had to be reading this all wrong, but…what the hell else could those words mean? 

"Fraser –" the sharp glance that earned him had him quickly amending, "I mean, Benton, did I just hear you ask me to sleep with you?"

He was relieved that he sounded almost normal, for all he felt that he was going to fall apart any second.

Fraser gave a noisy gulp and quietly corrected, "No, Ray. We're already sleeping together. I asked if you would consider making love with me."

Fraser couldn't be as uncertain as he appeared, but he really sounded as though he expected to be turned down.

"You want to…make love…*with me*?" Ray stammered, unable to get his mind around the concept that this man whom everyone wanted might actually choose him.

"Yes, very much so," Fraser replied.

Ray's mind harkened back to the last time he'd heard those same words. A mausoleum with stained glass windows throwing a kaleidoscope of color all around. Beautiful, cold, Victorian angels that were made of stone lining the walls, watching him fall apart, and one flesh and blood Victorian angel in red serge that was nearly as untouchable. Another day when he was dying inside and the only thing standing between him and despair was this red-coated lunatic.

"You said that to me once before," Ray said.

He could tell that Fraser remembered exactly what he was referring to. "Yes."

"Did you –" No, that was too direct, even for an honest Mountie, Ray decided. "Was I one of those men you wanted to do more than dance with, even back then?"

He watched that pink tongue tip pop out to lick across the split upper lip. After what felt like forever, Fraser softly answered, "I was trying very hard not to think of you in those terms, to remain professional."

"But?" Ray prodded, hearing more than what Fraser was willing to admit to.

"But, yes, I would have wanted to do more than dance with you," Fraser said.

Fraser had wanted him, back then, nearly a year ago?

"You haven't answered my question, Ray," Fraser said.

"Huh?"

"Will you make love with me?"

Ray shivered. This man knew words better than anyone. Fraser knew the distinction between love and sex, but his partner was also big on euphemisms for this kind of thing, and, in this case, Ray had to be certain what they were discussing. They couldn't risk crossed translation wires here. "Love, not sex?"

He could drown in those eyes. They were torn at the moment, fully as uncertain as he himself felt. 

"I've had sex, Ray. That's not what I want from you – at least, not all that I want from you."

"What do you want, then?" Ray asked, wary. 

With Stella, it had all started with the sex. She'd made him feel things that none of his school buddies had and he'd done the same for her. From the moment she'd let him inside her, Ray had been lost. He knew he was good at the sex thing. If that's what Fraser wanted, he was his man. But, as soon as the honeymoon glow had worn off, Stella had let him know in no uncertain terms how utterly he'd failed in the love department. Good as a bed warmer, not much of a conversationalist, not much of anything outside of the sack…

His self-preservation instincts were telling him he was taking a turn down the wrong road again, a road that might kill him. Fraser was so brainy that he made Stella look like a dunce. How long would it be before the glow wore off with Fraser? 

A wistful tone that he'd never heard before entered Fraser's voice as he answered, "I'd like to see you smile. To make you feel the things you gave me last night, and, perhaps, experience them again, if you're willing," Fraser softly answered.

"How's that different from sex?" he asked, completely confused. 

Fraser's brow puckered. "I don't know. I…my experience in these matters is…terribly limited. But the last time I…had sex," Fraser seemed to force himself to say those two words, "my whole world fell apart afterwards. I don't want to be a hamster anymore, Ray. I want to be a man. I want to love like a man."

Okay, one of them wasn't making any sense and Ray was pretty sure it wasn't him that was off kilter for once. So he tried not to sound like a moron as he repeated the incongruity in Fraser's uncharacteristically emotional statement. "A hamster?"

Surely, he must have misheard.

"Everyone knows that hamsters loose all sense when they mate," Fraser replied.

"They do?" Ray questioned in as normal a tone as he could manage in the circumstances. 

Fraser gave a solemn looking nod.

Seeing the worry and nervousness that Fraser couldn't conceal, Ray's heart nearly melted. He hadn't a clue on God's earth what Fraser was really feeling for him at the moment or even what Fraser was talking about. The last part wasn't uncommon. Fraser lost him at least once an hour in conversation, but…that hamster babble. His gut got the fear that was the gist of it, even if his head couldn't decipher the meaning. 

Once again, this brave man's fear and uncertainty helped ease his own anxieties. Yes, Fraser was smarter than Stella. The Mountie might run rings around everyone when it came to competency, strength, and intelligence. But when it came to matters of the heart, Fraser was even more clueless than he was. Benton Fraser wasn't some Gold Coast girl who'd known she was too good for the likes of him from day one. The poor guy thought he was a hamster. Who else but him could understand something like that?

Ray realized that the bottom line was the same thing it had always come down to between them – a man had to trust his partner.

So, he gave a small smile and said, "Turtles never lose their sense."

"They don't?" Fraser said, as if his response were perfectly rational.

Ray shook his head. "No. Even when they mate. They wake up next morning, and they're both still there. Everything's still hunky dory in Turtleland. We're turtles, Benton, not hamsters."

Fraser's eyes squeezed shut. Ray heard his friend gasp in a sharp breath.

Emotions were always so hard for this man. But…Fraser had just reached out for something he wanted. And he, Ray Kowalski, was that something. Fraser's approach might have been awkward and incoherent to the point of being surreal, but it was a real landmark for this prisoner of propriety.

They were going to be all right. Ray could feel it in his bones. Hamsters, turtles, whatever the hell they were, they were going to be all right.

He didn't leave his friend hanging in the proverbial breeze. He reached out and put his arms around Fraser, then drew the bulkier man to his chest.

It should have felt strange cuddling Benton Fraser like that, but it didn't. It felt right, perhaps righter than anything else had ever felt.

Fraser clutched at him as though something to cling to was all he'd ever wanted from life, and maybe it was, Ray decided. He rubbed that broad back, being careful of the bruises, and pressed his lips against the warm crown of that fragrant, soft hair.

They lay pressed together like that for what felt like forever. Then, at last, Fraser raised his head up to stare down at him.

"I thought at first that you didn't want this. I could…feel your misgivings before. But you do want this, don't you?" Fraser asked. 

He could see that Fraser was trying to get things straight in his mind, in that button down way he had of doing things. Fraser couldn't just go on instinct and feelings like he could. His partner always had to know the how and why of everything, but the how and why in this instance was pretty embarrassing. Yet, as much as he wanted to hide, as he stared into those bottomless blue eyes and clearly read the vulnerability there, Ray knew he couldn't throw up a smoke screen, not with something this important.

Taking a deep breath, Ray softly admitted, "I was freaking a little before."

"Over?"

"Stella was the smartest person I ever met until you. But you…you make her look slow."

"I don't understand your point," Fraser said.

"I just…couldn't help but wonder how much faster you're gonna see through me and move on," Ray whispered, looking quickly away. But he had to look back. He couldn't just drop a line like that and not know how it hit.

Fraser stiffened, pain and doubt flashing through his wounded features. For a moment Ray was sure he'd ruined everything. But then Fraser released a slow breath and simply stared at him for a long moment, his gaze seeming to dig right through him. 

"Why do you blame yourself for the failure of your marriage? It takes two people to make a marriage work." Fraser said at last. Apparently, his partner was as good at reading him in bed as he was at following muskrat tracks up north. 

"Yeah, well, if I'd been man enough to give her what she needed, she wouldn't've left me, right?" He was resolved to be honest here, even if it hurt. He couldn't take it if Fraser outgrew him the way Stell did. He needed Fraser to see upfront what he was getting into. No more playing outside of his league and hoping he could keep the act up.

"Wrong," Fraser answered in a steely voice that drew his gaze back to those bruised features. "I know it is hard to see around the pain, but you must try. I've seen the way Ms. Kowalski interacts with you. She is still susceptible to your charms, Ray. I am certain that her leaving was in no way a reflection upon your…manhood."

"Yeah, right," Ray said, wishing he'd kept his damn mouth shut on this subject.

"You were both very young when you married, with limited experience on both sides. Is it not possible that you were emotionally mature enough to know your heart and know what you wanted, but that Ms. Kowalski hadn't matured to that point yet? Perhaps it wasn't so much a question of her outgrowing you as growing up."

"What's that mean?" Ray asked, because it still sounded like a put down to him.

"Let's try this another way. What was your favorite meal when you were ten years old?" Fraser asked in a complete non-sequitor.

"Spaghetti-Os," Ray answered.

"And today?"

"Umm…pineapple pizza."

"Would you have eaten pineapple pizza at age ten?" Fraser questioned.

"Ah, no. Are you sayin' that I'm like Spaghetti-Os to Stella now?" he asked, almost getting what Fraser was talking about.

"It's possible, don’t you think? When you married, you knew you loved Ms. Kowalski and wanted to have a traditional family life with her. Isn't it possible that Ms. Kowalski didn't know herself well enough at that point to realize how important a career was going to be to her ten or twelve years in the future? Isn't it possible that you were in no way lacking or at fault, but that what you needed and wanted from your marriage turned out to be completely incompatible with what Ms. Kowalski needed and wanted?"

*Don't you understand that I can't be that girl anymore, Ray? I'm not fifteen. I'm thirty and it's just not me anymore!* Stella's tearful entreaty rang through his conscience. But….

"It still sounds like she outgrew me," Ray said, only realizing afterward how completely uncool it was to be discussing his ex at moment like this. But Fraser didn't seem to mind.

"Ray, you are an extraordinarily dedicated man. You know your heart, and give it fully. But not everyone is that…self-aware, especially when young. Just because you were emotionally mature enough to know what you wanted at eighteen doesn't mean Ms. Kowalski was." Fraser's hand reached down to stroke his cheek, as though he couldn't resist touching him.

Dedicated, self-aware, emotionally mature – these weren't adjectives he was accustomed to hearing in relation to himself. They sure as hell beat obsessed, fixated, and unable to let go.

That last was so wrong, because Ray could feel it happening inside him as he stared up into his partner's battered face. He was letting go, not so much of Stella because he hadn't really had her to hold onto in years, but letting go of the pain. 

"You really believe that," Ray said, warmth like he'd never known unfurling within him like those big canvas sails on that wooden ship they'd manned last summer. For once, it wasn't a question; he had no doubts that his demented partner meant what he was saying.

Ever literal, Fraser took him at his words. "Yes, Ray, I do. I think having the conviction and dedication to act on the truths of one's heart is the true definition of both courage and maturity."

"So what was with that 'not as such' 'only ever danced with the guys' line you gave me last night? I know you're no coward and I never met anyone more convicted than you, Benton Fraser."

He knew he hadn't said it right, but Fraser didn't take offense or correct his grammar. Fraser's finger's just stroked over his cheek and jaw, a pensive expression claiming his features as the Mountie watched his fingers move. 

Fraser seemed to be getting as much out of the quietly intimate gesture as he was himself. After two minutes or so of that wordless petting, Fraser cleared his throat and gave Ray some of that incredibly brutal self-honesty that always floored him.

"My timing was never appropriate. I never felt the right things for the right person at the right time – before tonight."

"Ah, Fra-Benton," he caught himself and turned his face to nuzzle Fraser's sweaty palm.

"Also, the person was never appropriate. A prisoner looking for a way to evade justice, heterosexual colleagues, a partner with Old World traditions – "

"Vecchio?" Ray froze, stunned. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it himself, but it explained so much about Fraser.

That uncertainty he hated was back in Fraser's face as he nodded. "I never told him, of course, but I think he guessed. I think that's why he – "

"No," Ray cut in, seeing how much pain and shame his partner was experiencing. "Vecchio wouldn't do that to you. You told me he called you up North before he left. He broke cover and risked his life to send you that 'cold out here heat me up' postcard. If he was runnin' away from you, he wouldn't've done any of that. Believe me, I know what I speak of. Stella couldn't've cared if I'd lived or died after she walked. I think one of the comments Frannie made in the office once might've explained why he took that assignment."

"A comment Francesca made?" Fraser seemed lost.

"You remember the time that old pretzel guy got killed in the park and we found out how much he was worth? When Lt. Welsh told us to check out the old man, Francesca said that we were investigating him because he was Italian and that meant that his death had to be mob related. She was mad as hell about it, and rightfully so, because that was the implication. It's gotta be just as hard growin' up with that kinda crap as it is the Polish jokes or the Streetcar Named Desire jokes. I think Vecchio took that undercover gig to clean his own doorstep, to prove that not every Italian American is painted with the same brush as the creep he's pretendin' to be."

Fraser's entire body seemed to freeze on top of him, his expression making it plain that he'd been blindsided by the thought. "I never considered that."

"Your whole life fell apart the week Vecchio left, how could you? I know what it's like when the world falls out from under you. All there is is pain. Take my word for it, you're not the kind of man someone just walks away from."

"People have 'walked away' from me my entire life, Ray. My father, Victoria, friends I thought I could trust. I nearly even drove you away last spring, before we became involved in the Henry Allen case," Fraser said.

Ray rubbed his palm over Fraser's broad back. He didn't like to think of how close they'd come to calling it quits that night, either. "I don't know about any of those other people. All I know is us. Yes, things almost fell apart last spring, but we pulled it together and were better afterwards for it, weren't we? We didn't give up. You and me – we don't give up. That's why this is gonna work for us." He gestured down at their tangled bodies. "Everything's gonna be okay in Turtleland for us. No more gerbils."

"Hamsters, Ray," Fraser softly corrected, his eyes bright with more than laughter.

"Whatever," Ray said, and then Fraser was kissing him and it felt like a sealed pact, like he'd just taken all those vows and put a shiny gold ring on his finger again. Only, this time, he didn't feel like he was fighting a losing battle going in. 

Fraser pulled back from the kiss just long enough to gasp in a breath. Ray's body tensed in anticipation as Fraser's dark head lowered again. Warm breath danced across Ray's neck, raising gooseflesh, then a second later, a hot mouth nuzzled his ear.

He hissed in a sharp breath as every nerve in his body jolted at the rush. Christ, it had been so long since someone had touched him, so terribly long. 

He shivered as his partner's tongue flicked across the over-sensitive area behind his ear, Fraser finding his hot spot by instinct. 

Lick, lick, suck, suck…Fraser mightn't have much in the way of actual experience under his belt, but his instincts were flawless. For once, Ray found himself grateful for his partner's oral fixation. Fraser took his neck apart nerve ending by nerve ending and left him a shuddering wreck.

Finally, Fraser raised his head up. His right hand grasped the collar of Ray's shirt. Lifting it ever so slightly, Fraser asked, "May I?"

"Huh?"

At this point Ray would have handed him the keys to his GTO or a kinfe to carve his heart out. Whatever Fraser wanted, it was his if he could give it to him.

"May I remove your shirt?"

"Uh…sure," Ray answered, almost wishing Fraser had asked for the keys or the knife. 

As he ducked his head to allow Fraser to pull his shirt and undershirt, he felt almost ashamed. He knew his uneasiness was stupid. Fraser had seen him bare-chested dozens of times, but Fraser hadn't been looking at him through a lover's eyes those times. He didn't have the abs, pecs, or breadth that Fraser did. All there was was scrawny, underdeveloped him.

But Fraser wasn't looking at him like he was disappointed or turned off. To the contrary, a heat entered Fraser's eyes that hadn't been there before, and then Fraser lowered his head and put all that oral talent to work on Ray's nipples, and he was gone, totally gone, as his body melted to jello under that talented tongue.

He gently stroked Fraser's hair and bruised back as his partner worked at his chest, needing that contact to prove that this was real and not some bizarre wet dream.

When Fraser's mouth moved to claim his other nipple, Fraser's right hand stroked down the center of his chest, over his lower belly and right down to the front of his jeans.

Ray gave a shocked "Ahhh," as Fraser's hand carefully squeezed the bulge there. The sensations that blasted through his body at that move were like nothing Ray had known. It had been way too long for him and he was way too sensitive.

This time Fraser didn't ask permission. He just undid the jeans button, cautiously unzipped the zipper, and peeled Ray's pants and briefs right off him.

Ray was vaguely aware of the pants being tossed off the bed. That, more than almost anything else yet told him how much Fraser was into this. If he hadn't been, his partner would have stopped to fold the clothes.

All coherent thought fled as Fraser's hand collected his throbbing cock. No doubt Fraser was doing some freakish thing like listening to his heartbeats to determine what he liked best, but whatever Fraser was using to guide him, it was working flawlessly. Fraser pumped his shaft with expert pressure, like they'd done this a thousand times before, like their very souls knew each other.

It was like a wake up call to his sexuality. Fraser was igniting nerve endings and feelings that hadn't been aroused in so long that Ray had feared them atrophied. Delight was dancing through his blood like a narcotic, like some sensual version of heroin that made him an instant addict. As it was, Ray was lost, body and soul as this inexperienced man brought him back to life. 

He nearly felt like crying as the feeling rushed back into him. He wasn't dead; he wasn't untouchable. Fraser's fingers were resurrecting, and, as he saw that dark head lower over his pulsing groin, it was all Ray could do to keep from screaming.

The mouth was so hot, so utterly perfect and juicy around his deprived shaft. 

His hands gripped those sturdy shoulders, needing something to anchor him so this pleasure didn't blast him right off the planet. He tried to remember not to squeeze too hard, because Frase was still recovering from that beating, but it was all he could do to remember to breathe. Ray sobbed in each lungful of air, exhaling with a moaning cry as Fraser gave the first tentative suck.

Yes, this was what his hungry soul had needed, this kind of raw contact.

As lighting sparked through him from that one little suck, Ray's hips thrust up, instinctively demanding more.

And then everything went wrong. 

Fraser was gagging and coughing, pulling back, and straightening up in the bed. 

Raising his eyelids until they were fully open, Ray took in Fraser's teary eyes and red cheeks, instantly knowing what had happened. Fraser was a novice to this. His Mountie might be an annoying natural at most physical tasks the first time Fraser tried them, but fellatio was something that took practice. You couldn't just shove something the size of his cock down a throat that had never done this before.

More than that, the tension in that handsome face told Ray that the position itself was causing his partner pain. Ray remembered that Fraser had been having trouble walking today. Bending over like that had to be hurting his injured back.

As the color in Fraser's cheeks returned to normal and his eyes cleared, Fraser instantly apologized, "I'm sorry, Ray. Let me try – "

Ray once again reached out to lightly cover that mouth and hush the words.

"Your back's still a mess. You shouldn't be bending like that. We can try that again tomorrow."

Ray moved his hand to Fraser's cheek as the mouth below it tried to speak. 

"But I want to – "

"I know. We're not in any rush. Come up here. This will be just as good, maybe even better 'cause we'll both enjoy it."

"I was enjoying –" Fraser insisted.

Fraser was so proud, so stubborn – and so damn adorable, Ray thought, his heart filling with love for this impossible man. Everything always had to be so hard where Benton Fraser was concerned, but Ray was determined that this wasn't going to be. Loving him wasn't going to devolve into some angsty guilt fest. 

For a moment, he was at a loss as to how to get his way without making this into a major argument, but then his heart clued him in. Fraser was a gentleman to a fault. He had to work that angle. Anything else was gonna end up a shouting match.

Ray stroked his fingers over Fraser's cheek, trying to vanquish the determined hardness and get his sensual lover back as he said, "I know and I appreciate it, but you wouldn't want me to do something like that if it were hurting me, would you?"

He was curious to see if Fraser would lie to him and pretend that his back hadn't been bothering him.

The protest was there in Fraser's eyes, but after a minute or two of staring contest, Fraser lowered his gaze and softly said, "No, I wouldn't want to do anything that caused you pain."

"So don't ask me to do it, then. Come on up here."

Looking as defeated as if he'd lost a prisoner from the Most Wanted list, Fraser moved back up the bed, even that small motion making him wince.

Ray was glad he'd noticed and called a halt when he had. Even though it had felt great at the time, he would have felt like a louse afterwards if Fraser had hurt himself trying to make him feel good.

But his proud partner was obviously viewing it as a personal failure, for Benton didn't seem able to meet his gaze as he lie stiffly down at his side.

"Hey," Ray called.

Fraser met his eyes, still tentative, still sulky. 

Ray had never loved anyone more in his whole life as he did this disappointed, crazy man. "I know your mouth's all busted up, but…can I kiss you?"

Fraser's brows rose as though the request had startled him. "I wasn't certain you'd want to, Ray."

"Why's that?" he asked, trying to figure out what was going on in his partner's convoluted head. Fellatio was okay in Mountieland, but kissing wasn't?

"Well," Fraser's thumb rose to do that eyebrow stroking thing, "you did say this was 'buddies making each other feel better.' Do buddies kiss, Ray?"

Damn, he couldn't even remember what he'd said earlier tonight - some idiotic nonsense about this being no big deal to keep Fraser from freaking. But it was a big deal, and if they were looking at this differently, they were gonna have problems down the line, like maybe even as soon as he got that first kiss, for Ray had a feeling there wasn't any chance in hell of him keeping this casual.

"No, but lovers do." The hope in Fraser's eyes gave him the courage to continue. "Stella always used to say that I was too…sentimental, too…obsessed, that I fall too easy. Guess I oughta warn you. I don't know how to keep this kinda thing casual. I know that sounds stupid. A grown man should be able to play the field, but…."

"No, it's not stupid, Ray," Fraser said when his words ran out. "I think it's highly honorable that your heart and body must be in accord for you to be intimate with someone."

"I wanta be in accord with you. If that's what you want," Ray said, feeling naked.

Fraser held his gaze as he replied in a strangely meaningful tone. "Yes, very much so."

Those four words rocked him like they had that day in the mausoleum, seeming to speak straight to his wounded soul.

Then Fraser was leaning towards his mouth, and nothing else seemed to matter but that first kiss.

Too aware of the bruises on the left side of his partner's full lips, Ray was careful in the amount of pressure he applied.

Fraser didn't seem to care, though. He dove right into it.

At the first poke of Fraser's tongue tip against his own chastely closed mouth, Ray opened up and sucked his partner in. Juicy was his first thought, then the taste hit him and his mind short-circuited again.

Fraser's hands came up to frame his face as he deepened the kiss.

Ray was still there enough to recognize an opportunity to get them where he'd wanted them at the start of their discussion. He slipped his arms around Fraser's chest and gently pulled towards him. 

Still locked in the kiss, Fraser allowed himself to be led. He tensed a little as Ray pulled him right up on top of him, but since that was pretty much where Fraser probably wanted to be at the moment, his partner didn't protest.

Years had passed since he'd engaged in frottage with another guy. Hell, Danny Martin hadn't been a guy. Neither one of them could have been more than fifteen, but the feelings aroused by pushing two hard cocks together, even at fifteen, had been incredible. Ray couldn't imagine how good it was gonna feel doing it with Fraser. No fear of anyone's folks walking in, no stupid 'it doesn't mean anything' declarations afterward, just pure sheer pleasure.

It was better than anything he could have imagined.

Ray felt the surprised start Fraser's body gave as their naked erections settled next to each other. It was the same as his own. Fraser weighed a ton, but Ray found that he liked the weight. The very solidness of Fraser's body seemed protective. He could almost feel Fraser's warmth and love encompassing him as his partner settled on top of him. 

After such a long deprivation, the closeness felt good. Every inch of Ray's body hungrily soaked in the other man's warmth, rejoicing at the contact. Something hurt and scared inside him seemed to relax at long last as Fraser's scent and heat inundated him.

Ray let his hands stroke down the baby soft skin of that broad, amazingly hot back until he reached the rounded globes of his partner's ass. Mindful of all the hurts Fraser's body still carried, he gave a careful squeeze.

His partner might have been raised by prim and proper, button-down librarians to the point where he was a poster boy for propriety, but Fraser was still very much a man. As the sensations of that squeeze doubtlessly shot through him, Fraser broke the kiss and gave a sharp cry.

"Can you rock those hips a little?" Ray whispered into a nearby ear as he squiggled around beneath Fraser's hardening erection until both their cocks were fit snugly together. He gave a little thrust of his own hips to clue Fraser in on what he was looking for.

They both gasped as their shafts pushed at each other's testicles. The swirl of feeling through his long-deprived body was like champagne bubbles dancing through him.

Normally, when it came to rhythm Fraser was like dead wood, but tonight he was anything but stiff. After an initial awkwardness in which Ray got the feeling Fraser was searching for a way to rock without putting too much pressure on his black and blue hip, Fraser started to thrust back and forth in a pattern that took Ray's breath away.

As Fraser's mouth covered his own again, the breath stealing became a literal action as Fraser sucked the very air out of his lungs in an attempt to seal them together.

Ray went with it and rocked his own hips back. Fraser went wild on top of him, thrusting for all he was worth in a beautifully savage whirl of passion.

His mind melting, Ray met those hips thrust for thrust. It felt like Frase was pounding him right into the mattress. Ray entertained the incongruously humorous image of them needing a crowbar to pry him out of the mattress in the morning, but right now he didn't care if he ended up in Mrs. Bruzzura's apartment downstairs. All he knew was that his body was on fire, and his Mountie was feeding the flames.

They burned together for a glorious eternity. Finally, Fraser broke free of the kiss, threw his head back, and came with a sob.

His own body convulsed with delight. Ray tightened his hold on Fraser's shoulders and added his own hot squirts to the warm, sticky puddle that was forming between their groins.

At last it was over. In the immolating silence that followed, Ray tried to catch his breath. It was hard with all that weight pressing down on his chest, but no way in hell was he complaining. If he died right now, he'd go a happy man.

Fraser shifted a little on top of him and the pressure on his chest eased some, so he sucked in a breath and met those eyes.

Even last night, Fraser hadn't looked so stunned and blown away.

"Ray?" Fraser whispered, sounding like he wasn't even sure whom he was with.

Appreciating the feeling, Ray gave a sappy smile and answered, "Yeah."

"Is it always like that with buddies?"

Ray had to laugh at that. "I wouldn't know. Haven't done it with a buddy since I was in high school. It sure as hell beat anything in recent memory, though."

"Really?" Fraser sounded uncertain.

Considering how he'd mooned over Stella for the last year, Ray could understand why Fraser might think he was giving him a snow job. Figuring that it was time he gave Fraser some of that honesty Fraser always gave him, Ray quietly admitted, "I think Stell lost interest in me a long time before she started talkin' divorce. I wanted things to be like they were when we were kids again, but no matter what I tried, I just…couldn't move her in the bedroom like I usedta."

Feeling his face go scarlet with humiliation, he dropped his gaze.

"I've always thought Ms. Kowalski to be a most perceptive woman, but I fear her judgment was off in this matter," Fraser said.

It took a minute or two for him to realize that he'd just been complimented, Ray peeked back up at Fraser, who was still on top of him and looking down at his face, and asked, "You do?"

"Having sampled your charms twice, I assure you that you are in no way lacking in bedroom skills. To the contrary, you could arouse a dead man – and did."

Blushing, Ray quickly objected. "You don't have to say things like that to me. You can be honest."

"Ray, I am being honest. What we just shared was…incredible. Why can't you believe that?"

Not wanting to lose this great thing he'd found by disabusing Fraser of his latest insanity, Ray looked away.

"I guess I just…I don't ever get this lucky," he whispered at last.

"Nor do I, Ray. But I think with this, we will make our own luck."

Hearing the emotion Fraser couldn't keep out of his voice and sensing how important this was to Fraser, he looked back at his partner. "You really do believe that, don't you?"

"I believe in you."

There weren't any barriers between him and Fraser right now. No polite facades, no perfect Mountie. Just him and his new lover.

"I think…that you're the only thing I really do believe in anymore," Ray admitted. "You really know what you're getting into here? I'm not like spaghetti-os?"

"No, Ray, you're definitely pineapple pizza," Fraser softly assured. 

"And you like pineapple pizza?"

"Certainly more than spaghetti-os." Ray could see tell that the absurdity of the conversation had tickled Fraser's funny bone, but his partner was doing his damnedest to keep his expression serious. "But if forced to compare you to a food item, I would have to say that you were tea."

"That bark stuff with the sticks in it?" Ray asked nervously.

"No, the black tea that I have every morning. The black tea that I promise you I will drink every single day for the rest of my life."

As far as sweet nothings went, this conversation was fully as freaky as any that involved Benton Fraser. But despite its surreal slant, Ray knew what he'd just been promised.

He couldn't hold back. He grabbed hold of Fraser's hair and pulled him down into a deep, mushy kiss that seemed to last forever.

They separated after a long, juicy time. As they both took deep breaths and tried to stifle yawns, another clamor of bells sounded outside in the snowy Chicago streets as the midnight mass ended.

"Merry Christmas, Ray. Thank you for the best one ever," Fraser said with such sincerity that it choked him up for a minute.

"Merry Christmas to you, too, Benton."

"Ray?"

"Yes?"

"Is it too soon to say I love you?" Fraser uncertainly questioned.

Ray swallowed hard. Obviously, he wasn't the only one who jumped without looking in this partnership, but once again, Ray thought that could work for them. If he could ever get the rock out of his throat.

"That's what the tea was before, wasn't it?" Ray smiled and assured, "Anyway, we've been sayin' it for nearly a year without words. We might as well say it," Ray found his voice at last. And then, to avoid forcing his restrained lover from making that first, giant step, Ray softly added, "I love you, Benton. In love love."

Fraser's expression told him how hard his declaration hit. Fraser gulped loudly and answered with near solemnity, "I love you, too, Ray."

"In love love?" Ray checked, because the insecure part of him still had to hear it, maybe always would.

"In love love," Fraser affirmed.

"Greatness," Ray said, giving in to his yawn. 

"As you say, greatness," Fraser agreed. Being the polite Mountie he was, he covered his mouth at the ensuing yawn.

Ray reached up, slipped his hand around Fraser's neck and gave a gentle push down. "Come on. Time to crash."

Before he allowed himself to be guided down and therefore cut their line of sight to each other's eyes, Fraser asked, "It's all right if I remain here like this?" He, too, gestured at their embracing flesh.

"Far as I'm concerned, you can spend the rest of your life right there. You can be the smarties in my coffee."

For once, there was no misunderstanding. Fraser's face filled with a quiet joy before he gave a simple nod and lowered his head.

After they spent a few minutes shifting around to get comfortable, Fraser quitly said, "I like Turtleland, Ray."

"Me, too, Benton, me, too." He rubbed that warm back, just because it was his right to now.

"Did you know that turtles live significantly longer than hamsters, Ray?" Fraser asked in a half-asleep voice.

Ray grinned. "No, but I knew you would."

"Turtles can live for hundreds of years, Ray."

"That's good, 'cause I think we're gonna put it to the test."

"There was a study on – "

"Sleep, now," Ray firmly interrupted before Fraser got caught up in some scientific dissertation.

Fraser gave stifled giggle and a meek, "Yes, Ray."

How often did that happen?

Ray felt those long lashes flutter against his collarbone and mere seconds later, Fraser's deep breathing told him his friend was fast asleep.

Giving the top of that warm head a final kiss, Ray wasn't very far behind him. 

Finis


End file.
